


If Promises Could Be Kept

by breakeven2007



Series: Who We Will Never Be [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, EXTREME PTSD, Gen, Holy Hell Not A Fix-It, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm Sorry, Minor Canonical Character(s), Not A Fix-It, Original Character(s), PTSD Kakashi, Past Relationship(s), This Fic Has No Happy Ending, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven2007/pseuds/breakeven2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kakashi Hatake always saw himself as a failure, and now that the Fourth Shinobi World War was over, his opinion of himself was just reinforced. Konoha was gone and Naruto Uzumaki was dying. No one was left to start over with and the other Hidden Villages were about to be destroyed. But then Naruto offers and impossible opportunity: to stop the death before it starts. </p><p>Time-travel is no joke, and Kakashi will realize, like any great strategist, that plans work until they're put in place, and not every decision is for the better. </p><p>We all make promises, but can they be kept?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Naruto fandom, and I hope that you enjoy this fanfic. It's also posted on Fanfiction.net if you'd rather read it there by my same account name. 
> 
> I'm American and (unforutunately) don't have any experience with the Japanese language. I won't be using any Japanese except honorifics, and that will only be -san and -sensei.

One

            It had never been a habit of Kakashi’s to fret over his students. In fact, as soon as he’d first met the brats, he’d decided to only train them loosely—if that term even covered how poor a job he’d done in preparing them for ninja life. As they say, though, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and Kakashi would be the first to agree to that. Looking back, if he’d been a responsible teacher then his Number One Hyperactive Unpredictable Knuckleheaded Ninja wouldn’t be lying in a pool of his own blood in the center of a battlefield that had already seen too much death.

 

            Maybe that was unfair. Maybe Kakashi’s teachings wouldn’t have changed a thing, but who was he to say? If he turned his attention to the other rookie teams, almost all of them had lived to the bitter end—where they still inevitably died. That was the resounding problem: after everything that had just happened, after the violence and blood and death, after the anguished wails of the mortally injured, after the ruthless slaughter of an entire Hidden Village, all of it had been in vain. His last shreds of happiness were gone, blown away like a leaf in the wind that his old home had been so known for.

 

            As Kakashi Hatake watched his comrades die around him, he allowed himself a rare moment of self-pity that, if you’d known him even casually, you’d have known was a foreign emotion on the man. For all his mistakes he’d always blamed himself and berated his own skills. After Obito “died” he visited the memorial stone as often as possible, believing the incident to be his own fault, which to this day he still accepted as truth. After he killed Rin with his own hands the self-hate had only intensified, and even worse after his sensei’s death and the subsequent alienation of the blonde man’s child.

 

            He knew who he was. He was Kakashi Hatake: shitty teammate, stuck up prick, asshole, cold-blooded killer, and failure.

 

            In this rare instance of self-pity he drew into himself. The fight was over, Naruto was dying, and he’d failed _again_ to fulfill his sensei’s wishes. The boy had killed Sasuke out of necessity or else Sakura would have been murdered, but afterward the light had left the blonde’s eyes and Kakashi could do nothing to stop it. He knew all too well what that was like—what it was like to lose your innocence. His had been lost much earlier than Naruto’s.

 

            “Kakashi-sensei.” Naruto’s voice suddenly broke through the deafening silence of the dead, evaporating Kakashi’s self-pity in an instant. It was weak and slightly raspy, but all the same carried plenty far enough for him to hear.

 

            “Yes, Naruto?” Kakashi said jokingly. He used the same tone of voice he’d used back in Naruto’s genin days when he was fed up with the hyperactive boy’s load boasts about his dreams to become Hokage. He knew that Naruto would recognize it for what is was and hoped that he’d at least crack a smile.

 

            “If you could do it all again, would you?”

 

            Of all the things Kakashi expected out of his student, that wasn’t it. Then again, what did he expect from Konoha’s most unpredictable ninja? All the same, the question gave him pause. Would he risk the fate of the world on the chance he could go back and fix things? Did he really believe himself able to play God? To manipulate people? Prevent people from dying? Obito, Rin, Minato-sensei, Kushina, Hiruzen, Guy, Sasuke, Sakura, the Rookie Nine, the Hyuugas, his father, the list went on and on of all the people he’d lost. He could end up ruining the future even more, though. _And yet… there isn’t really even a choice, is there? I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I could save them._

 

            “Yeah, I would Naruto,” Kakashi finally replied, glancing at Naruto. Blood and dirt streaked through his blonde hair, which had grown out over the past year, and covered his face like a blanket of filth and bodily fluids that gave off the most horrendous smell. Not that anyone noticed it anymore. The smell of decaying bodies tended to cover up the otherwise overwhelmingly high concentration of iron permeating through the air, soaking clothing, dripping down a wayward soldier’s face as his comrade cried over him. Death wasn’t just sad, it was disgusting.

 

            Leftover fires raged around them as if symbolizing the little life both of them had left. As if the flickering flames were as ready to go out as he was about to take his last breath. The truth was, though, that Kakashi wasn’t all that concerned with dying anymore. His entire life had been a struggle to stay afloat, a struggle just to get up in the morning and not end it all right then and there. He honestly didn’t know how many times he’d considered just killing himself—it seemed to be a regular occurrence—but every time he reminded himself that if he did nothing else with his sad excuse for a life, he’d be there for Minato-sensei’s son. Unfortunately, look where that had gotten the boy.

 

            “Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto said again, interrupted by a fit of coughing. “Kurama has a way for you to go back.”

 

            That threw him for a loop. Time travel? That wasn’t possible, and yet… “How?” _Is it too much to hope that I could change everything?_

 

            Obviously struggling, Naruto tried to sit up, coughing and hacking the whole way, until his arms gave out beneath him. The blood covering his entire person was coming from a mortal wound across his abdomen that was gushing blood at an alarming rate. “There’s a seal… my right pocket… use Kamui… activate the seal… use most of your chakra.” Every phrase was punctuated with coughing.

 

            Kakashi got the idea. Carefully, so as not to jar Naruto and cause any more pain, he went through his student’s right hip pouch until he came upon a newly drawn seal that meant absolutely nothing to him. But Naruto nodded and managed to get out a few words. “Promise me, Kakashi, that this future won’t happen. No matter what has to change, promise me this won’t be anyone’s future.”

 

            “I promise. Do you have any idea how far back I’ll go? Will I just be wandering through time or something?”

 

            Naruto’s small shake of his head seemed to be the equivalent of moving a mountain for all the strength he had left, and Kakashi felt himself tear up. The jonin hadn’t cried since Rin’s death, but he didn’t even attempt to hold them back this time. He wasn’t going to pretend he wouldn’t miss Naruto, with his infectious smile, loud and boisterous personality, and hot-headed temper that you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. Naruto reminded him so much of Kushina that sometimes it hurt and he looked so much like the Fourth that part of the reason he never approached the boy was that he was afraid he’d break down at his teacher’s Mini Me.

 

            “Hopefully you’ll end up in your childhood, but I don’t—“ Naruto was cut off by a fit of hacking that shook his shoulders and caused precious blood to bubble out of his wound. “Use the seal. Change the future. But I swear to God Kakashi, if you don’t live your life I’ll come back from the dead and travel in time just to beat your ass, got it?”

 

            “Yes, ma’am.”

 

            “Now suck yourself into Kamui and activate the seal at the same time. I’ll use the last of my chakra to give you the extra boost.”

 

            Kakashi did as he was told and helped Naruto into a sitting position so that he could pour the last of his chakra into this final deed. It saddened Kakashi that his student’s entire life had been one big sacrifice. From the moment of his birth, Naruto had to sacrifice everything—his family, his friends, his childhood, and now his life. It wasn’t fair, and if Kakashi had anything to say about it he’d make sure this kid got the life he deserved. If that was the only thing he could change, he’d give Naruto Uzumaki-Namikaze the life he’d always wanted—the life he’d always deserved.

 

            Thinking he was supposed to suck him and Naruto into Kamui, Kakashi activated his Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan and sucked them both into the alternate dimension as each poured chakra into the seal. Light swirled around them in a cacophony of colors and shades, battering them with sensory overload. As Kakashi was about to black out, he heard Naruto’s dying words.

 

            “I’ll see you again Kakashi, and you better not give me a reason to beat the shit out of you.”


	2. Two

_“False face must hide what the false heart doth know.” –Macbeth, William Shakespeare_

 

Two

 

            Sunlight streamed through the slats in the blinds and Kakashi groaned, shielding his eyes. _It’s too damn early to be waking up,_ he thought groggily, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow. The material was soft and comforting, his head sinking into the memory foam like it was cradling him. That, unfortunately, was the first thing off. The second thing off was the hand on his shoulder, slightly shaking him.

 

            Panicking, Kakashi grabbed the offender’s wrist and twisted, eliciting a pained hiss before he sat up abruptly, head-butting the mystery person and then sending a foot to their neck. Shaking his head and blinking to bring his vision into focus, awareness suddenly filled Kakashi’s mind and his eyes locked onto the intruder: Sakumo Hatake, also known as his father.

 

            “D-Dad?” Kakashi whispered, his eyes drinking in his father’s appearance like he’d been off a life-saving drug and had just been given another dose. Unbidden and unwanted, tears began to leak out of his eyes, flowing down his cheeks and wetting the sheets he was lying back on. His breath hitched and, for the life of him, he couldn’t get his heart rate under control or his breathing. The reaction on his father’s face was one of absolute shock and confusion.

 

            “Kakashi, what’s wrong?” Sakumo asked, concern lacing his voice. Kakashi swore his heart stopped at the sound of his father after twenty-five years. It just caused the tears to flow freer.

 

            “Dad!” And then he was clinging to his father as if letting go would cause the man to blow away, dissolve in the wind. All of the emotions he’d bottled up since he was five years old spilled over and he couldn’t hold himself together any longer, nor did he want to.

 

            Sakumo wasn’t sure what to think. This was his son, his closed-lipped son, and here he was bawling into Sakumo’s shoulder like the five year old he was. For most parents, their five year old crying into their shirt was probably common occurrence, but for the White Fang of the Leaf, he couldn’t ever remember his son showing _any_ emotion, let alone the pure… what? Grief? How could his son be grieving? He must’ve read that wrong.

 

            For Kakashi’s part, he couldn’t process anything but what was in front of him. _My father. My dad. I… He’s here. He’s alive. I really traveled back in time. This time, I can save him. This time, I can save all of them._ It was overwhelming, but he knew that his dad was freaking out and that if he didn’t reign it in soon, Sakumo would probably interrogate him or something equally as crazy. His dad was pretty great, but the man was more suspicious than Hiruzen Sarutobi, and that was saying something.

 

            Pulling his emotions back in and shoving them away to the deepest part of his mind, Kakashi schooled his expression and glanced up at his dad. Sakumo Hatake was a broad shouldered man with facial features similar but wider than his own and, of course, the silver hair known only to the Hatake clan. His father’s eyes were usually alert and always slightly suspicious, but now they were wide with shock and Kakashi knew they’d be narrowed in thought soon enough. “Dad, what did you want?” he asked calmly, ignoring the lingering tear tracks he knew were on his cheeks.

 

            “Uh… how about we get some breakfast first?” Sakumo suggested, standing up straight and brushing non-existent dust off his pants. “I could make eggs and toast.” _And ask you some questions._

 

            “That sounds great. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Kakashi said. He kept his voice light and his tone unassuming, but he knew he wasn’t fooling his father for a second.

 

            As Sakumo left, Kakashi scanned his room. It was almost completely bare and perfectly tidy, as per his usual. There was the twin bed he was sitting on with its plain white bedding, a small maple nightstand with a clear crystal lamp, a chest of drawers, a dresser, and a small closet. His clothing was sparse and he wasn’t surprised to find an entire drawer of his nightstand dedicated to masks only. He was already wearing one, as he slept in them, but decided to exchange it for a fresh one. He ended up pulling on a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt. It wasn’t what he really wanted to wear, as he felt he didn’t have any pockets, but for God’s sake, he was five. Retailers really didn’t make cargo pants for kindergartners (unfortunately).

 

            His clan house was just as he remembered it. There were the bedrooms that no one used, the empty hallways that almost seemed haunted, the sparse living area, the kitchen with its older than dirt appliances, and (who could forget?) the room where his father committed suicide. As he passed it he gulped audibly, not allowing himself to look inside. He already knew it was an empty room, and he didn’t need to glance in there to imagine exactly how it looked with his father lying in a pool of his own blood…

 

            _Stop,_ he mentally berated himself. _You can stop it this time, so there’s no reason to dwell on what happened last time. You’ll only drive yourself crazy._

 

            When Kakashi entered the kitchen, Sakumo was already seated with a plate of eggs and toast in front of him and another plate in front of an empty chair. Kakashi sat down, picked up his fork, and dug in, shoveling food into his mouth so fast that even Naruto would be impressed. He was, for some reason, absolutely ravenous. He guessed it was the chakra depletion from the time travel, but, either way, he’d soon cleaned his plate and hopped up for seconds. The eggs were a tad underdone and the toast was slightly burnt, but he just scooped up a heaping helping and sat down to eat again. Although he was crazy hungry, eating was also a great excuse not to hold up a conversation with his dad, which he wasn’t looking forward to.

 

            “Kakashi, is something bothering you? Was it—was it a nightmare or something?” his father asked, uncertain how to approach the subject. But Sakumo needed answers and damn if he wasn’t going to get them.

 

            “No, it’s fine,” Kakashi replied, applying a mild form of his ANBU expression so as not to startle the White Fang too badly with his I-am-a-robot face. However, he still needed to keep his dad from being too curious.

 

            Sakumo was obviously not convinced. “You can tell me anything Kakashi. You know that, right?”

 

            Kakashi nodded, but he didn’t respond. This whole time travel thing was still throwing him for a loop, and he didn’t trust his voice not to crack or betray his real feelings. He’d have to work on that in the future if he wanted to encounter all of his former friends and acquaintances without having a psychological breakdown or something equally as problematic. “So what did you want to ask me?” he asked instead, deflecting the former line of questioning.

 

            Sakumo shook his head, seemingly in exasperation, and just laid is fork down. “I’ve got a mission today. It’s crucial to the war efforts, but I should be back by tomorrow morning, maybe evening if there’s a complication,” he said.

 

            Kakashi was sipping his orange juice and only half listening, but as soon as he heard that he froze, his glass slipping from his hand and hitting the floor, shattering into a million tiny pieces. His father jumped at the sound, but immediately began to clean up the mess. He ordered Kakashi not to get down so as not to get glass in his feet. Not that he needed to say that. He knew the kind of prodigy that Kakashi was, but Sakumo just felt that’s what a parent would say. Besides, his son was acting so strange today, and he decided being a little more parental wouldn’t hurt anything. For Kakashi’s part, he just stared ahead as if in a trance, hating any power that be that he was sent back without the time to change his father’s fate.

 

            Kakashi couldn’t do anything to save his father and it was killing him inside. He knew the man inside and out, especially after that talk during Kakashi’s brief stint of being dead. He knew that Sakumo Hatake killed himself because the man didn’t want to be a red mark on his son’s record. He didn’t want to cause his son to be ridiculed by the village or keep him from getting promotions, and felt that the best thing for everyone was to just disappear. If the mission turned out the way it had before—and there was no reason for it not to—then Kakashi would have to witness his father’s suicide a second time, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

 

            He watched his dad in a detached manner, as if distancing his mind from the entire situation would spare him the grief he knew would come later. Which, from experience, he knew never worked. All it did was push away those that cared about him and give his mind free reign to hate himself. Nevertheless, old habits die hard.

 

            With jerky movements, Kakashi stood up from the table and dumped his dishes in the sink. His mind was swirling, his thoughts chasing after each other in a game of tag that kept getting darker and darker. Deciding he needed to blow off some steam, Kakashi set off for his room to get his hip pouch. “I’m going to train, then. I… I guess I’ll see you when you get back.”

 

            With that, he grabbed his stuff and ran from his house as fast as possible, using chakra in his feet to push himself even faster. While his father was gone he was going to sign the summoning contract with his nin-dogs; he was going to need them if he wanted to get through the next couple of days without going insane. Luckily, Pakkun and the rest would still remember him since summons defied time. They’d be younger, and some of them would still be alive, but they would remember. Just that though put his mind at a little more at ease.

 

            Kakashi picked the first empty training ground he came to and immediately began to beat the shit out of a training post. Or, more accurately, he _tried_ to beat the shit out of a training post. The problem was that his mind was used to him being six foot tall and now he was probably only a little over half that height. His punches missed by a foot and his kicks swished at the air in front of him quite determinably. As his frustrations built and his impatience grew he quite literally screamed in anger at his inability to vent his emotions. Deciding to screw caution, he ran his hands through one of the most basic sets of seals and shouted, “Fuck this!” before performing a modified  _henge_ which was really a solid transformation.

 

            With a small puff of smoke, there was thirty year old Kakashi, standing at six feet tall and heaving with pent up frustrations and anger. As he destroyed the training ground in an attempt to vent he was screaming in his head.

 

            _I can’t—_ thwack!— _believe that I get one—_ thwack!— _chance to—_ thwack!— _fix everything—_ thwack!— _and I can’t—_ thwack!— _even—_ thwack!— _save—_ thwack!— _my own—_ thwack!— _father!_ He let up on his taijutsu for a minute, breathing heavily. _After everything, I just don’t deserve a family, do I?_

 

            Releasing his _henge_ , Kakashi slouched against a training post, the splinters poking his back nostalgically reminding him of his Genin team’s bell test and Naruto’s subsequent humiliation at being tied down while everyone ate. Kakashi tried to focus on that pleasant memory, but it slipped away when he thought of how the loud-mouthed blonde had changed during the Fourth Shinobi World War. Naruto’s infectious smile had melted into a bitter, sarcastic grin that held too much pain for his age. His bright blue eyes that always saw the best in people had dulled into the biting, suspicious, haunted eyes of a ninja that was visited by the nightmares of battle every time their head hit the pillow.

 

            Kakashi was pulled out of his memories when he sensed another chakra signature entering the training grounds and the familiarity of it almost gave him a heart attack. “Minato-sens—.” He stopped himself from saying _sensei_. “Minato-san.”

 

            Minato Namikaze, the future Fourth Hokage and father of Naruto Uzumaki, stood in front of Kakashi with a curious and slightly suspicious expression on his face. His blonde hair was just as bright as his student remembered and reminded Kakashi so much of his son that the protégé had to look away.

 

            “None of that, Kakashi. Please, call me Minato.” The man walked forward into the clearing and sat down on top of a training post to Kakashi’s left before glancing down at the interesting boy. “How’s your training going? Is it effective to train as if you were six feet tall?”

 

            _Troublesome blondes,_ Kakashi thought.


	3. Three

_“With the inevitability of a tongue returning to probe a painful tooth, we come back and back and back again to our fears, sitting to talk them over with the eagerness of a hungry man before a full and steaming plate.” – Dread, Clive Barker_

Three

 

            Of course it was his luck that the first person he met besides his father was none other than his beloved sensei. At this point in time, Kakashi knew he hadn’t been assigned to Minato’s team, and therefore was barely acquainted with the teen, so he had to tread lightly during this conversation. After all, when his father had died the first time, Minato had been adamant on taking Kakashi in until he was old enough to take care of himself. He’d been so wrecked after the ordeal that he hadn’t really put up a fight until he became a Genin, in which he then, quite childishly, demanded he be able to live on his own.

 

            Now that he was in the past, he didn’t want to jeopardize Minato’s willingness to take him in, and probably wouldn’t give it up this time either. That’s assuming, of course, that his father—well, he wouldn’t think about that. Hopefully he’d be able to console the man if the mission turned out as disastrously as it had before (which he was fairly sure of).

 

            “Kakashi?” Minato said, jarring him out of his musings. He realized he’d spaced out for a few minutes.

 

            “Uh, sorry, Minato. What did you say?” Kakashi said innocently, though he suspected the blonde didn’t believe him.

 

            “Why were you training with a _henge_?”

 

            As much as Kakashi hated lying to his future sensei, it wasn’t as if he could tell him the truth. It was a good thing the blonde hadn't noticed the solid transformation. Not only was it utterly unbelievable, but it would probably get Kakashi a pre-paid vacation to Torture & Interrogation, maybe a nice cold cell and a nosy Yamanaka. Beside that obvious fact, Minato wasn’t his sensei and therefore only knew him in passing. It wasn’t as if they had any real relationship, and the Jounin was probably just curious about his behavior. “I might be a prodigy, but if I’m against an experienced ninja, size would definitely matter, especially concerning taijutsu,” Kakashi settled with saying.

 

            Minato shrugged noncommittally and said, “True. But do you expect to be fighting trained ninja before you’ve even graduated the academy?”

 

            _Considering there are a select few that need killing before they can ruin this timeline, there’s a high probability of that,_ Kakashi thought ruefully, a bitter grin making its way onto his face. Danzō was a particular on the list, and though Kakashi knew the man was only doing what he thought best for Konoha, his actions had caused the Uchiha massacre, Orochimaru’s cruel experiments, and the crazy organization known as Root, not to mention plenty of other (though probably less direct) manipulations that no one had known about. Yes, Danzō was definitely on his hit-list for the future.

 

            “You never know,” was all he offered Minato, however.

 

            Deciding to jumpstart his relationship with his future sensei, Kakashi glanced curiously at the blonde and threw out a question of his own. One he’d actually wanted to ask in the past but never got the chance. “Why do you like fuuinjutsu so much? From what my dad’s told me, it’s very complicated and highly technical, not to mention the consequences if you made a mistake.” Kakashi somewhat knew the answer to that since he’d learned quite a bit in the past (future?) and it turned out to be incredibly useful, but masters usually had more reason for it than that because of the effort required to perfect it.

 

            “Well,” Minato began, surprised at the question. It wasn’t everyday an academy student knew about fuuinjutsu, let alone ask why someone enjoyed the art. “It is complicated and technical, but that’s part of why I like it. It’s similar to a puzzle in the way that every element has to fit perfectly or else the seal becomes useless and sometimes even dangerous. Not to mention the fact that you can create new seals for an infinite amount of purposes, which is very useful for tricky situations or ensuring someone’s safety.

 

            “But the real reason is that fuuinjutsu reminds me of my own limitations. Yes, I’m a Jounin, but even high-ranking ninjas can be defeated. For example, the tailed beasts are supposedly the strongest beings on the planet, and yet a seal can keep them at bay, take away their chakra, imprison them inside a person. Everything has a weakness and, even though it sounds weird, fuuinjutsu reminds me of that.”

 

            As soon as Minato was done speaking, he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck in such a familial gesture that Kakashi winced at the obvious similarities between his sensei and his student. “That’s probably sounds stupid, huh?” Minato chuckled.

 

            “Not at all,” Kakashi said. “In fact, it makes perfect sense.” The Third Hokage had once told Kakashi that the reason he passed the mantle on to Minato wasn’t strictly his strength, though that was formidable. No, it was because the blonde possessed a certain attitude, the Will of Fire. Of course _he_ would choose to pursue one of the most obscure and challenging ninja arts because of a philosophical reason.

 

            They sat in a comfortable silence for some time after that. Kakashi wasn’t sure what Minato was thinking about, but he could guess. Knowing the guy, he’d already become ever so slightly suspicious and was inconspicuously analyzing him, trying to figure out the mystery that was his friend’s son. Kakashi, however, was thinking about what he would do if Sakumo Hatake came back from his mission tomorrow as a disgrace, vilified by the village and subjected to the harsh treatment from the first time around. If that _was_ the case, then Kakashi was prepared to stick up for his father in hopes of assuring the man that he wasn’t wrong in saving his comrades’ lives and that he had his son’s support.

 

            It wasn’t until he noticed that the sun was high in the sky did Kakashi finally break the silence. He stretched, popping his shoulder and shaking out his arm before standing up and then bending down, stretching the back of his legs. “Well, nice to see you Minato,” he said.

 

            The blonde glanced at him, curiosity written all over his features. “Actually, Kakashi, would you mind getting lunch with me? I know a great ramen stand not too far from here.”

 

            “Ichiraku’s?” Kakashi’s heart clenched painfully at the thought, but he managed to keep the emotion off his face, thank God. For some reason, he was having trouble reigning in his emotions now that he was younger. _I think I deserve a little slack, though, since I’ve just talked to two people who’ve been dead for over a decade._

 

            Minato beamed. “Heard of the place? It has the best ramen in town.”

 

            “Did you know there’s a thing called too much ramen?”

 

            “Nonsense. There’s no such thing.”

 

            Kakashi just laughed and they both headed out for the quaint stand, again comfortable in their silence. It was encouraging that he was bonding with Minato so easily so quickly. He was afraid he’d screw something up by off-putting the man— _teen_ , he reminded himself—or just not running into him for a while. He also had no way of knowing whether the people in this timeline were fundamentally the same as the ones from his.

 

            Supposedly, the seal Naruto used to punt him back in time did just that, but Kamui was a technique that twisted space, not time. Then again, time and space were entwined, hence spacetime, in a four-dimensional continuum, at least as he understood it. So, theoretically, if Kamui ripped a whole in space, then it could be counted as ripping a whole in spacetime and allow for the seal to move him throughout. That begged the question, however, if Kamui ripped a whole in spacetime, then did the seal send him to another time in a different dimension? He didn’t know a whole lot of the theoretical stuff, but people had speculated before about multiple dimensions and parallel universes, especially to explain things like time travel and the consequences would it ever be possible. But his head hurt thinking about the specifics and he knew all too well not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

            “Ah, here we are,” Minato said suddenly, pulling Kakashi out of his confusing and speculative thoughts. Kakashi mentally cursed himself. He’d spaced out for the second time that day and both times in the presence of one of the most powerful and intelligent Jounin Konoha had to offer, who would undoubtedly notice such a thing. Kakashi was supposed to be a prodigy after all, and was known for his attentiveness and near-perfect memory.

 

            Knowing there was nothing he could do about it now, Kakashi just nodded and ducked between the flaps of the stand to look for a seat. As soon as he saw the flaming red hair, though, he knew part of the reason Minato wanted to come here. Kushina Uzumaki, jinchuuriki of the Nine-Tailed Fox, sat idly at the bar, eyeing the menu even though she always got miso. It took everything Kakashi had not to just shout out “Kushina!” and hug her until she died of asphyxiation or she beat him into next week, though he would expect the latter.

 

            They approached the spot where Kushina was sitting and Kakashi noticed that his sensei’s shoulders tensed slightly and there was a hint of nervousness to his stride that only a trained ninja and long-time friend would be able to detect. Kakashi nudged his teacher and raised an eyebrow before nodding his head toward the red-haired woman. The blonde’s eyebrows went up in surprise before furrowing slightly in confusion. That’s when Kakashi realized _again_ (too late) that he was five, and five year olds didn’t notice that type of stuff no matter how attentive.

 

            “Minato!” Kushina shouted as soon as she caught sight of them, effectively drawing the Jounin’s attention away from Kakashi. He thanked the woman profusely in his head, remembering to use her as a distraction in the future in case he ever needed to slip from Minato’s gaze again.

 

            “Hey Kushina. This is Sakumo’s son, Kakashi Hatake. I ran into him training earlier and thought I’d invite him for lunch,” Minato said as he settled into a chair. He plucked a menu from the stack to his right and scanned it before snatching one for Kakashi too.

 

            “Hello Uzumaki-san,” Kakashi said formally, trying to make good on his reputation as being closed off and respectful to elders. He knew she’d correct him, however, and wasn’t disappointed when she closed her menu and gave him the evil eye.

 

            “Don’t be so formal, Kakashi. Call me Kushina,” she insisted with a wave of her hand. “All that formality makes me feel like an old fart.”

 

            Kakashi snickered at her blatant disrespect, but it reminded him so much of Naruto that he found he couldn’t help himself. The boy might’ve inherited his father’s looks, but his personality was all Kushina, down to the very same catchphrase. He was even able to push the reminder that Naruto had stopped using the phrase during the war out of his mind without dwelling on it too much.

 

            “Well then, Kushina. Nice to meet you,” Kakashi said politely. Luckily he’d refrained from using her nickname he’d given her the last time, after he’d been on Team Minato for quite a while, of course. _Actually,_ he thought, _I came up with that nickname after Obito…_

 

            “Kakashi?” Minato’s voice startled him out of his disastrous thoughts and his head snapped up reflexively to scan his surroundings even though he was already aware of where he was. If he wasn’t careful, though, Minato (and maybe even Kushina) would catch on to his odd behavior and try and talk to his dad. _Not that he’d be talking to anyone any time soon…_

 

            They ate their meal in relative silence. At least, Kakashi and Minato did. Kushina couldn’t stop rambling about anything and everything, but not in an annoying way like he remembered Sakura doing. No, this was more like, filling the space. It, again, reminded him of Naruto and how he’d cheer up a situation by blurting out anything that came to mind completely unfiltered. Some thought it blunt, but most thought it amusing or, at the very least, annoying, and it could bring almost anyone out of a mood. Kushina was just like her son, and soon Minato was laughing along with her while Kakashi even had to suppress a few snickers here and there.

 

            “Well, Minato, Kushina. I should probably get home. I’ll have to train some more today before I clean up my father’s study. It’s a complete mess and he should be home by tomorrow evening at the latest, so I’ll see you later,” Kakashi said, standing up from the table and laying some money down for pork ramen he ate. He waved goodbye to Naruto’s parents and hopped along the rooftops until he reached the Hatake compound.

 

            The compound wasn’t much considering Sakumo and Kakashi were the only living members, but Kakashi’s heart still skipped a beat every time he looked at it. The place reminded him of all the hours he spent training with his dad and enjoying the silence when Sakumo was gone on missions. He’d idolized his dad to a startling degree, and he was pretty sure that’s why the man’s suicide struck him so hard. Yeah, any kid would be devastated at the loss of their father, especially at five, but Kakashi was always striving to be like the White Fang of the Leaf; he wanted to be just as strong and just as accomplished of a ninja. After the man had been disgraced because he failed a mission, Kakashi thought he’d been betrayed, like he’d been lied to his whole life. He assumed his father wasn’t a great ninja, that he was trash, and therefore shunned any mention of him.

 

            Kakashi opened the front door to the compound and gave a heavy sigh. He couldn’t do anything or even assess the damage until his dad came back, which wasn’t for another twenty-four hours, at least. Deciding to just take a nap, he yanked off his sandals and padded to his room before collapsing on the bed, letting silent tears run down his face. After about an hour, he finally fell asleep.


	4. Four

_“There are things in life we don’t want to happen but have to accept, things we don’t want to know but have to learn, and people we can’t live without but have to let go.” – Unknown_

Four

 

 _“Scream, bastard. I want to hear your scream and beg for your life. I want to see you grovel at my feet. Because I am stronger than you, Kakashi, and I always will be. You_ stole _that Sharingan, it isn’t yours, and I’m going to take back what’s mine.”_

_The killing intent radiating off of his former teammate was almost enough for a seasoned ninja like Kakashi to vomit. As it was, he shivered at the amount of pure, unaltered hate that rolled in waves off the man. His orange swirl mask had been lost a long time before while Kakashi had been engaged in a vicious battle with him, a fight to the death. It was still hard to believe that Obito Uchiha, the scorned black sheep of the prideful clan, had somehow turned out just as hateful and jaded as the man’s leader, Madara. Either way, Kakashi had lost, unable to kill the man he’d wronged._

_“What do you have to say for yourself?” Obito spat, amusement dancing in his half insane eyes. It didn’t take an expert to realize the man wasn’t quite right in the head, and that only fueled the flames of cruelty when it came to Kakashi’s torture. But the silver-haired man only had one thing to say to Obito—one thing he hadn’t been smart enough to say back in their Genin and Chuunin days._

_He took a deep breath to gather his last shred of self-worth and whispered, “I was always jealous of you.”_

_Kakashi had never admitted it to anyone, not even his teacher or his students. All his life, Kakashi, the supposed prodigy, had been jealous of Obito Uchiha. Anyone else would have laughed, brushed him off as if he were just pulling their leg, and insisted that, if anything,_ Obito _should have been jealous of_ him. _But the fact of the matter was that eleven years old Kakashi, at the time, had wished he’d been kicked out and ridiculed by Sakumo, told to fend for himself. He’d assumed that his father’s suicide would’ve been easier had he hated the man, or at the very least indifferent. Unfortunately, the only other relationship that’d even come close to the one he’d had with his father was Minato-sensei._

_Obito, however, might’ve been scorned and bullied by his clan, but at least he_ had _a clan that didn’t consist of only two members. And if for some reason one of them dies, Obito would never care or attend one of their funerals and cry like a baby. The eleven year old Kakashi had wished he could be as indifferent, even hateful, to his family as Obito. Besides, outside of his clan, Obito could make a friend out anybody. Kids, adults, civilians, ninja. Hell, he’d even made peace with Tora the demon cat for a brief stint of twenty minutes. Needless to say, it’d never been done before._

_Apparently whatever Obito had expected, that certainly wasn’t it. The man stilled and drew in a sharp breath, and for a second Kakashi thought he saw the flicker of the old Uchiha from twenty years ago—loud, annoying, always late, dead-last, and a great friend._ I wish I’d realized how great you were Obito. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

_“You were… jealous? JEALOUS?” Obito shouted, his killing intent spiking again. This time, however, the man in front of him changed into a sixteen year old Naruto Uzumaki. Kakashi’s heart clutched painfully at the sight of his greatest failure. He’d been tasked with ensuring Naruto’s safety and wellbeing and he couldn’t even teach the kid a single jutsu until he came back after training with Jiraiya. All the boy had ever wanted was to be treated with love and he had selfishly pushed Naruto away in attempt to settle his own feelings._

_The blonde’s jumpsuit was in tatters, his hair was streaked with blood and dirt, and his eyes were gouged out of his skull, blood trailing like tears down his cheeks. He was wearing a murderous expression with his elongated canines and twisted lips that finally put Kakashi over the edge and he emptied his stomach onto the ground._

_“Kakashi, why didn’t you ever visit me? Why didn’t you teach me anything? Am I just the demon to you? Am I just some snot-nosed kid,_ brat _, that didn’t have enough of a backbone to keep the Kyuubi in? Is that it? Or is it…?” Naruto trailed off and cocked his head like he was pondering something profound and philosophical, as if the next question weren’t obvious._

_“Or is it that I will never be my father?”_

_Kakashi remembered when he caught Naruto, years after learning about his father, throwing a picture of Minato at the wall, completely busting it before he used a Fire Style jutsu to alight his index finger, reaching for the photo. After Kakashi yelled at him to stop, Naruto had exploded, ranting about the villagers, him, the Third, Madara, Obito… but mostly his father. He screamed about how everyone expected him to become the Fourth reincarnated just because they looked so similar. That some of the older ninjas couldn’t look at him in the eye because they could only see Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage. Kakashi had admitted that, at first, it was hard and that some people would only see him as his father’s son, but that it didn’t matter what villagers or other ninja thought. His loved ones were the people that mattered and they only saw one Naruto Uzumaki-Namikaze. The boy had calmed down, but Kakashi still saw that pain in him sometimes._

_“Am I just not good enough for anyone?!” Naruto roared, sinking to the ground, his hands gripping his hair and blood running out of his empty eye-sockets. “It’s your fault, Kakashi. You let this happen. Everyone around you has always died.” With a final choked sob, Naruto hit the ground, dead._

_Kakashi rushed to him and hoisted him up until he realized he was no longer holding Naruto, he was looking into the eyes of his former teammate Rin. Tears were streaming down her face and she was coughing, a loud echoing sound that seemed to bounce around in her chest like a marble in an empty container. He knew his hand was sticking through her chest, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers as he felt tears of his own soaking through his mask._

_“Ka…ka…shi,” Rin croaked. Her eyes were already losing their light. He hated himself so much. He’d failed Obito and hadn’t been able to protect one of the only people he’d ever cared for._ I don’t deserve friends after what happened to Obito, _he thought hatefully, the self-loathing welling up in his heart._

_“Ka…ka…shi,” Rin whispered again. “Why… did y-you…l-let m-m-me… d-die?”_

_As he felt his Sharingan spin, evolving into the Mangekyō, he threw his head back and screamed, the sound ripping through his throat and piercing the now-silent battlefield. His cry rang through the night, and yet the stars shone just as brightly, as if mocking him._

* * *

 

“Kakashi! Kakashi!”

Someone was shaking him, and he should care, but he couldn’t bring himself to. As the last images of the nightmare replayed in his mind, tears soaked his cheeks and mask, and nausea hit him like a wave breaking on the ocean shores of Kiri. Throwing off the hand that had been shaking him and bolting to the bathroom, he flipped up the toilet lid and emptied his stomach. His nightmare kept replaying over and over again in his mind in a sick loop and he couldn’t get the images of an eye-less Naruto or a dying Rin out of his head. He wanted to bang his forehead against the wall until he forgot. Forgot everything.

 

“…Kakashi?” came a hesitant voice that was filled with concern.

 

A voice that he recognized as Minato’s.

 

Rising shakily to his feet, Kakashi turned to face his teacher. He didn’t know why the blonde was here or how he’d gotten in, but nonetheless, he’d seen the gruesome nightmare he’d had and that was bad enough. “Why are you here, Minato-san?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

 

The blonde frowned. “Just Minato, Kakashi. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” It seemed he wasn’t near about to let this go, which Kakashi had already figured.

 

“I’m fine,” Kakashi said with a tone that implied he wasn’t. “Just… leave it alone.” He hung his head to try and hide his eyes, which he knew would give him away to a professional like Minato. In the past, he’d always seen through Naruto’s disguise as well as Sasuke’s because their eyes gave them away. What surprised him was the anger that flashed in his teacher’s eyes. It was surprising because Minato was never angry at his students, even when one got the other two killed.

 

“Don’t consider me a fool. When I knocked on your front door I heard the screaming. This compound is made almost completely of solid concrete and steel; if I could hear you from the other side of the house, through the walls and the doors, then you weren’t ‘fine’,” Minato said vehemently. Kakashi shrank into himself, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want the blonde to react negatively by him insisting on his mental state. Which, if he were honest with himself (and a therapist), wouldn’t pass the psychological exam given to ninja after especially traumatic missions.

 

As it was, Kakashi just shook his head slowly, still trying to get rid of the dark thoughts creeping through his consciousness. It was like a disease, one’s thoughts; they could weasel through the smallest of cracks and exploit the smallest of weaknesses. The worst part: you can’t stop _thinking_ (though not for lack of trying). Kakashi couldn’t think of anything to tell Minato—what did one say when accused of traumatizing nightmares at five years old? Luckily, or perhaps unluckily in Minato’s case, there was a loud _thunk_ coming from the front of the house and the distinct sound of the deadbolt turning.

 

His father was home.

 

“Ah, there he is,” Minato said nonchalantly. “The Hokage told me he’d be back around now and I wanted to catch up. Besides, he usually has his nin-dogs with him after missions and I haven’t spoken to Pakkun in a while.”

 

The color drained from Kakashi’s face as he heard the words come from the teen’s mouth. It was as if he were watching his mouth move, but he couldn’t process what he was hearing. His dad was already back? How long had he been sleeping? Why did Minato seem so unconcerned? _How did the mission turn out?_

 

Kakashi felt a small twist of shame when he hoped for a split second that his father had decided to just complete the mission. As soon as he thought it, though, he vehemently pushed it away, hating himself for even considering it. Unfortunately, Kakashi never did have any luck and fate, or destiny, or God, or _whatever_ never looked kindly on him.

 

            “Come on. Your dad’s home, let’s go see him,” Minato suggested, tugging lightly on Kakashi’s wrist. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, Kakashi couldn’t help but flinch as his battle reflexes kicked in and caused him to wrench out of the teen’s grip. It startled Minato, but Kakashi just headed toward the foyer with clenched fists, trying desperately to contain his anxiety and fears.

 

            And there, in the early morning sunlight, Kakashi saw something he never expected on the man’s face—grief. The grief you only experienced when a teammate died. The grief that threatened your sanity and pulled at the edges of your carefully crafted mask. And then, inevitably, the self-hate, the blame, the anger.

 

            Sakumo Hatake, in that brief moment, reminded Kakashi so much of his older self that he had a faint sense of déjà vu. The face he saw staring straight ahead was the same one he saw in the mirror every single day since Obito ‘died’. Which could only mean one thing:

 

            His father completed the mission alright, but at a terribly heavy cost.

 

            One his father seemed unwilling to pay.


	5. Five

_“If you don’t get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don’t want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want you still suffer because you can’t hold onto it forever. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality.” –Socrates_

Five

 

            Kakashi remembered clearly the conversation he’d had with Minato after Rin had sacrificed herself and he’d joined ANBU. The way the man had dropped all pretenses of his usual subtlety and thrown the blunt truth in his face brought him out of the worst of his crippling depression—temporarily at least. At the time, he’d still been so traumatized by his teammates that he’d quickly reverted back to his screwed up and socially retarded self, eventually brushing off his sensei’s words. Now, however, they came to his mind as clear as day.

 

* * *

 

            _The day had been windy and slightly overcast with the sun peeking in between the clouds at any chance it got. Leaves swirled around him and wind whipped his clothing with staccato_ snaps _that he focused on, blocking out any other thoughts. He’d taken his forehead protector off and was absently rubbing a thumb over the Konoha symbol, wondering what, exactly, it meant to him at this point._

_First, it had represented his father and the great ninja he was; after that it reminded him of his father’s failures and to learn from the past; the Kannabi Bridge mission again changed it into a painful reminder of his failure. Suffice to say, he wasn’t sure anymore._

_Gazing out over the only place he’d ever called home, he stretched his legs out over the edge of the Hokage monument, where he had been sitting for hours. He’d been on top of the Third’s head, sitting between mounds of rock symbolizing hair. He picked up a pebble rolled it around his palm before letting it fall, fall all the way to the ground at least a hundred feet below. He couldn’t hear it land over the wind._

_He’d been so_ tired _. After getting no sleep for seventy-two hours because of terrifying, gut-wrenching, vomit-inducing nightmares, his mind wasn’t functioning. He’d been on autopilot, just waiting to collapse, hopefully to never get up again, to never have to face his sensei, the Hokage, anyone._

I just want to sleep, _he thought desperately._ I just want to sleep without seeing their faces every time I close my eyes. Why can’t I just **go to sleep**?

 

_That had been the first time in his short life that he’d contemplated suicide. It wouldn’t be the last._

_The drop was long, and he hadn’t been sure if he could do it, but at that point he would do anything to sleep, to embrace the sweet release of darkness, of_ death. _It hadn’t mattered as long as he could sleep. In his delirious, half-mad state of mind, he’d dropped his forehead protector off the ledge and watched, fascinated, as the wind whipped the fabric back and forth before he couldn’t make it out anymore. He’d stood up and leaned over the edge, half a mind to follow it._

_“Kakashi, don’t you dare.” The voice had come from behind him, shouting to be heard over the wind. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was._

_He shivered. “It doesn’t matter! I killed them. I killed them and you know it. Obito was right; I_ am _trash. If they didn’t deserve to live, then why do I, as their killer?”_

_“I swear, Kakashi, if you do it I will_ never _forgive you, and neither will they. Obito and Rin_ sacrificed themselves _so that you could live and_ be happy! _If you throw your life away you’re insulting their memories. Whether you deserve their sacrifices or not doesn’t matter anymore! They did it anyway and you have to pick up the pieces and move on the best that you can.”_

_He’d shaken his head, not quite sure if he was hearing the other man right. Insulting them? Wouldn’t he be doing them a favor if he just disappeared? “I just want to sleep,” he stated blankly. The utter lack of emotion in his words shook the other man to the core. “I don’t have anything left.”_

_For some reason, that made the man angry._ “God fucking damn it, Kakashi! Wake the hell up! _Whether it’s in this world or the next, you’ll have to answer to someone. It won’t be the end. It won’t be the release you’re looking for. But fine! Fine! If you want to—to fucking_ kill yourself _, then just do it, Kakashi. Just get it fucking_ done with. _Be just like your father.”_

_That pulled him out of his stupor, hearing him being accused of his father’s likeness. “What the hell? I am nothing like him! How could you even say that?” He hated when people compared him to his disgraced father, and the man very well knew that. He really would rather jump off the ledge than be accused of being a coward._

_“You’re exactly like him if you go through with this. But I warn you—I won’t stop you.” With that, the man turned to go._

_Watching the only loved one left in his life leave, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He’d fallen to his knees, choked sobs wracking his body like he was having a seizure. They’d been ugly, wet tears that came from the darkest reaches of your heart and refused to be dismissed. “Don’t…go. Please, sensei.” His voice had been barely audible, but the man heard nonetheless._

_The man had taken his shoulders firmly in his grasp and said, “I won’t. I promise. But you can’t either, okay? We can pick up the pieces together.”_

* * *

 

Now, staring at his father, he knew what Minato had felt like with him teetering on the edge of the Hokage monument all those years ago. Kakashi could see the cracked exterior of his father’s expression and the utter despair he was in. It seemed, through some sick cosmic joke, that no matter what, any way you rolled the dice, Sakumo Hatake was truly and utterly fucked.

 

Next to the silver haired boy, Minato Namikaze was staring at one of his mentors with concern. See, he hadn’t been through any real war yet, and thus didn’t get the severity of the situation. Not right off the bat, anyway. Years later he’d readily recognize the look on Sakumo’s face. So he turned to Kakashi, fully intent on sending the boy to his room so he could talk with Sakumo, find out what was wrong. But when he saw the look on Kakashi’s face, he blanched.

 

There was a look of deep hatred on his face, but not for another person. Minato could tell it was a deep-seated self-hate that flashed in the five year old’s eyes and, frankly, that scared him. What kind of five year old hated themselves? Worse yet, there was understanding, an understanding a child should not have with a war veteran. As if the kid had been through just as much as his father had. It highly unnerved the blonde and he found himself unable to say anything.

 

“Minato-san,” Kakashi said slowly, adding the honorific to make up for the rudeness of his next sentence. “If you could come back at another time. I’m sure my dad’s tired from his mission.” He could tell the maturity he displayed surprised his future teacher, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. The slim possibility of saving his father was definitely time-sensitive.

 

Minato left with a stuttered “Of course,” and Kakashi heard a faint _click_ as the front door closed.

 

Moving slowly, Kakashi lightly grasped his father’s hand to avoid startling him and squeezed reassuringly, knowing his mental state was probably not the best. At the same time, Kakashi knew from experience that, while it’s cliché, it’s best to talk about what happened. You think hiding it away, ignoring it, trying to forget about it would help, but it makes it overwhelming, consuming, suffocating. Grief and guilt are bad enough as it is; when the two mingle it is murder on your mental state.

 

“Dad, how did the mission turn out?” Kakashi whispered as he gently tugged his father toward the living room. At that, Sakumo glanced at his son, his face giving nothing away except for the fact that the silver-haired boy could pick apart a mask easily, having done it to himself for years upon years. And, sometimes, nothing says everything.

 

“Great, Kakashi,” Sakumo replied automatically, as if he’d prepared himself for this moment over and over again, repeating it to himself until he didn’t have to think too hard on it. A typical autopilot reaction, never a good sign.

 

Kakashi sighed as he sat down in the living room, sinking into a plushy armchair that might as well have been brand new for all it was used. He guessed it was something his mother had picked out before she died because his father was never one to buy something for comfort. If it didn’t have a purpose then he didn’t have a reason for buying it, and furniture was no exception. However, as a kid Kakashi never sat in the armchair either because he thought that ninjas didn’t allow themselves comfort. What a joke.

 

Searching his father’s face, Kakashi tried to glean any extra information he could from the man’s expression, but, just as the boy had suspected, a battle-hardened ninja like the White Fang of the Leaf didn’t earn his rank by wearing his heart on his sleeve. The only ninja Kakashi had ever encountered that could get away with that was Naruto, and, suffice to say, _that_ yellow-haired menace did not count. In fact, as Kakashi had seen, that boy always did the impossible, so comparing a person to him was just downright unfair.

 

So, with a level tone, Kakashi figured he should at least try and broach the subject of his father’s mission. “How great were you out there, Dad?” he asked cheerily as he forced as much child-like innocence in his expression as he could. He knew his eyes would give him away, so he smiled his usual eye smile, but with both this time instead of one. Unfortunately, even in childhood he’d never really been innocent. Since Sakumo’s suicide at five years old, he’d been messed up from then on out. Honestly, if he didn’t bullshit those psyche tests, he’d be banned from even being a ninja, let alone being allowed to do all the crazy shit he’d pulled in ANBU. There was a reason his spec-ops nickname had been ‘Cold-Blooded’ Kakashi. More like ‘I’d Like to Die Young’ Kakashi.

 

Now his screwed up past (future?) was biting him in the ass.

 

“It’s fine, okay? I’m going to clean up and then we can go out for some dango, got it?” his father said before hauling himself up and hastily making the retreat to his room.

 

All the silver-haired time traveler could do was watch as his only blood-relative exited the room with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And anyone could tell he wasn’t ready to carry that burden.

 

Kakashi wanted the details, but he knew beyond a doubt that somehow he’d already changed the future. For the better, he didn’t know. But while the last time around Sakumo had failed his mission and saved his comrades, this time Kakashi would bet money that his father decided to finish the mission. Somehow, in the brief encounter they’d had that morning, he’d changed the outcome of a crucial point in his life. Whether or not Kakashi would live to regret it, he had no way of knowing… yet.

 

Either way, his father was willingly leaving the compound, so the village couldn’t hate him. Last time, Sakumo had avoided even buying groceries, sending Kakashi to go get them instead because the hate from the village was so bad.

 

 _Damn,_ Kakashi thought. _Konoha really has a problem. They drove a man to suicide and are lucky they didn’t drive Naruto to end up like Gaara. If it hadn’t been for the Third and Iruka, our resident jinchuuriki would probably have ended up killing someone for looking at him wrong._

 

One thing Kakashi appreciated about the time travel was that even though he had the mind of a thirty year old, he could act like a child because that’s what everyone expected anyway. So, with that in mind, he drew his knees to his chest and laid his forehead on his knees. For all the things he couldn’t change, for all the people he still wouldn’t be able to save (he wasn’t naïve enough to think no one would die), and for all the people that died because of his meddling, the supposed five year old let a tear slip down his face as he made a vow.

 

_Even if I have to drag you to hell with me, I will kill you, Madara Uchiha._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It shouldn’t take this long for the next one. Also, length-wise, once I get past then next one—maybe two—chapters, they’ll be longer and include some (hopefully) kickass fights. I like writing angst, but a little goes a long way and pretty much the entire thing has been really emotional.
> 
> Adiós!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter is going to establish the bigger divergence from canon. It seems some threads were woven long before anyone realized the strings attached.
> 
> This will also introduce some OC’s. I usually don’t like them, and there won’t be many, but the divergence from canon will need some characters not part of it.

 

_“In war, the heroes always outnumber the soldiers ten to one.” –H.L. Mencken_

Six

 

            The village was just as Kakashi remembered it. The stalls, the street vendors, the crowded market places, and the jubilant civilians fit perfectly like a picturesque photograph. All in all, it was absolutely, utterly _unnerving._

 

            The Konoha that he remembered was razed and smoking, the still burning fires melting plastics that let off noxious gasses that burned your eyes and coated your throat. The horrid stench of burning flesh and rotting corpses overwhelmed your senses and triggered your gag reflex. The Konoha that he remembered was nothing like this. Especially since everyone was celebrating, patting his father on the back like he was some war hero. _Which,_ Kakashi thought idly, _he is._

 

            Either way, the looks Kakashi’s father was receiving was the biggest shock. He could still remember some of the more creative insults that fellow shinobi had thrown his way after he’d failed his mission, and the reaction everyone had to this twist of events was almost enough to make him nauseated. Sakumo was showered with praise from ignorant civilians and rookie ninja alike that caused the man to grimace every time, not that anyone noticed. The only more subdued interactions occurred between the older Hatake and seasoned veterans. They understood, if no one else, exactly what Sakumo had given up on that mission.

 

            Not that Kakashi didn’t understand. In fact, the entire trip to the dango stall consisted of him trying to comfort his father with reassuring hand squeezes or even a hint of small talk to take his mind off recent events. The most concerning thing, however, was that Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever seen his father so distraught.

 

            It was different than the last time. Because the village had hated the White Fang, everyone was openly hostile, and it was easy to see how that affected the man’s mental state. Anyone faced with that much hatred, especially if they were unused to it, would be driven to the brink. The difference with Kakashi’s current events was that, while his father was being praised, he could tell that the man was taking it like praise for allowing his teammates to die. He’d experienced the same thing when someone congratulated him on the Kannabi Bridge mission years later, when he’d joined ANBU. Needless to say, the unsuspecting Monkey almost got a Chidori to the face.

 

            “Dad?” Kakashi asked, once again pulling his father from his thoughts. Kakashi gestured to the dango stall. “We’re here. What’re you getting?”

 

            He knew that it didn’t matter, but he didn’t really have anything else to say and he needed to get his father talking, even if only mindless drabble.

 

            His father didn’t reply, but headed into the stall with Kakashi at his heels.

 

            In the future, this dango stall would become Anko Mitarashi’s favorite past time where she could buy all the sake needed to get drunk and all the dango needed to get a sugar high. If he were honest with himself, Kakashi hadn’t spent all that much time with any of his old friends, but even he knew it was highly amusing to see Anko in a perpetual state of either vomit-inducing drunkenness or Naruto-esque hyperactivity. She’d flip between the two at the drop of a pin, and he had to admit she was probably the funniest person he’d ever seen drunk. Well… almost…

 

            Let’s just say, he didn’t count himself as someone he’d _seen_ drunk.

 

            The dango stall was the best in the village, just as Ichiraku’s was the best ramen. It was small and a little huddled together, but because mostly ninja ate there, no one really minded that much. Almost everyone came with a family member or teammate, so the squashed tables and walkways didn’t even cross anyone’s mind. It became painfully obviously upon entering the establishment, however, that it didn’t exactly smell _pleasant._

 

            Because ninja tended to get lost in their vices, the smell of alcohol permeated the entire establishment like a dirty blanket and a permanent layer of smoke seemed to shroud the ceiling. The ground was stained with God-knows-what, but mostly suspicious red puddles and, from the smell of it, dried pools of sake. It was the most run-down place Kakashi had ever been in, and yet it was just as busy as Ichiraku’s, if not more so once Naruto started visiting the ramen stand regularly. He would bet it was because not only the dango was, admittedly, delicious, but the owner was a retired ninja, and had no problem with teams back from missions actively bleeding on his floor and sometimes even a little messed up.

 

            Kakashi had often wondered later on why his father even allowed him to step foot into the place, but he’d realized it was because this dango stall was the aftermath of ninja life, and Sakumo hadn’t wanted to delude his son, even at a young age, that being a ninja was glamorous, or honorable, or something to idolize. In his own odd way, his father had been preparing him what was to come, if only a little.

 

            Fitting that his father was the one to truly show him the horrors of being a ninja, even if he hadn’t understood anything but his grief that night.

 

            _Wow, okay. If I brood anymore, I’m going to have to steal another Sharingan and join the Uchiha. This is ridiculous._

 

            Firmly shoving away anymore thoughts of the past, Kakashi mustered up all the cheeriness he could find and ordered his food. His father followed and didn’t space out at all, so Kakashi took that as a good sign. They sat down in a two-seater table not far from a group of four painfully drunk Chunins. As the annoyingly loud laughter washed over them, Kakashi decided to initiate some (hopefully) positive conversation.

 

            Impulsively blurting out the only thing he could think of, Kakashi said, “How’s the Hokage?” _Stupid,_ he immediately scolded himself. _That’s stupid!_

 

            Surprisingly, however, Sakumo’s gaze focused and he began eating his dango. “Definitely in a good mood, I’d say, since one of our biggest enemies will probably have to surrender soon. Actually, Korharu was joking with Sora all the way to the target about how Sarutobi would probably have to break out the, uh, _entertaining books_ he reads just to come down off the victory. Of course, that was before…”

 

            He left the sentence hang at that, and Kakashi didn’t mind. Sometimes, grief just needed a little silence.

 

            Their semi-comfortable silence was abruptly interrupted by one of the four drunk Chunin next to them. He was an ugly guy with a pockmarked face, scraggly beard, almost no neck, and a bulbous nose that just seemed to protrude from his face like a boil. His hair was greasy and hung limply to his shoulders, and his teeth were a nasty yellow color, probably from all the cigarettes he’d smoked in his lifetime. He sauntered up like he owned the place, and addressed the White Fang loudly, if not a little reverently.

 

            “Look who it is guys!” the ninja slurred, waving his sake bottle around and gesticulating wildly. “The hero’s back! Uryuu heard he ended the war.” The man slapped a hard hand on Sakumo’s shoulder, almost as if he was using the older man for balance. Kakashi couldn’t help but notice his father’s violent flinch at the touch, and he wanted to slap the ninja’s hand away and tell him to sit his ass down. If he were thirty, he would have.

 

            As it was, he couldn’t really do anything to intervene because he’d be blatantly ignored and probably caught in any unintentional crossfire if his father became pissed enough to throw a punch. _Which, from the looks of things, might not be too far off._

 

            “Excuse me, ninja-san,” Sakumo said between gritted teeth. The words seemed to leave a bad taste in his mouth and he spat the rest out with barely concealed contempt. “But I’m having a meal with my son at the moment, and I’d appreciate it if you went back to your business.”

 

            The problem was that drunk people were not rational people, and Kakashi could tell this ninja was about to push all the wrong buttons. As soon as the Chunin reached from him, though, his eyes widened.

 

            “Your son here doesn’t mind—“ The ninja immediately stopped talking when he realized Kakashi had his wrist in a vice-like grip.

 

            Kakashi had the man’s wrist so that if he made any sudden move, he’d break it. Painfully. He’d shatter the delicate bones that meant everything to a ninja and say nothing while doing it. He didn’t understand his father’s willingness to let people in his personal space, but Kakashi would allow absolutely _no one_ to enter his space. Ninja, civilian, enemy, friend, it didn’t matter. The only exceptions once in a while were his father (when he was young), Minato-sensei (sometimes), and, if he absolutely had to, Guy. Everyone else was off-limits.

 

            “I might be five, but don’t touch me. I happen to enjoy my personal space,” he spat with a falsely cheerful smile plastered on his face. This time, when the ninja tried to pull away, he let him.

 

            A group of at least ten ninja were now watching this encounter with unchecked curiosity and, after that display, astonishment. Maybe they were surprised at his skill, maybe they were surprised with his demeanor, but, nonetheless, everyone was surprised, including his father who was currently tilting his head in open confusion and obviously trying to understand where his previous statement came from. Inwardly, he cursed himself. A five year old wasn’t supposed to act like that.

 

 _However,_ he mused, _it’s not as if I am five. And there’s no real way to cover up the decades of ingrained habits and reflexes from fighting for my life constantly. While others might pass it off, my father won’t. He knows me well enough and has been a ninja long enough that he would easily catch my uncharacteristic behavior. It’s not like I can find it in myself to be such an asshole again. It’s lucky I didn’t end up traveling to when I was on Minato’s squad. I’d be found out for sure since I easily remember how horrible I was as a child._

When someone cleared their throat, Kakashi was brought back to the present and his eyes narrowed on the stupid Chunin that decided to interrupt their lunch in the first place. The man’s features were altogether average and a little boring. Brown hair, black eyes, and olive skin were common in Konoha, and if it weren’t for one deciding feature, he would be completely forgettable. The difference was that this man had such a disgusting nose and Kakashi didn’t want to know how it ended up looking like that.

 

What caught the Copy Cat’s eye was the small, intricately stitched symbol on the neck of the Chunin’s flak vest. A red cloud on a black circle.

 

Akatsuki.

 

Kakashi was caught off guard and found himself trying to reign in his anger. What could this man possibly have to do with the Akatsuki? Nagato, Konan, and Yahiko were barely born at this point in time, and the Third Shinobi World War had barely begun. Now that he thought about it, because his father’s mission was successful, the timeline could already be changed irrevocably. If the war ended prematurely due to his interference, the Kannabi Bridge mission wouldn’t happen, or not with his Genin team at least. So how could the Akatsuki be a thing?

 

Madara could’ve started it long before Nagato, which just further cemented what Kakashi already knew: Madara was a pawn, a pawn played by Zetsu so he could revive Kaguya. If that was the case, what did it mean to support the Akatsuki at this point in time? As a child, Kakashi would never have noticed something like the organization’s symbol, or have paid it any mind had he. So, since he couldn’t recall seeing it at all after the Third War, he had to assume it somehow… dropped off the grid? Unlikely, but the only explanation with his limited intelligence.

 

These thoughts swirled through Kakashi’s mind at lightning speeds, and he quickly recovered himself to glare at the idiotic ninja standing in front of him. He committed the man’s face to memory so that he could be tracked down later, and then decided staying in this dango stall was not helping take care of the rather obvious problem at hand: his father. Once he knew where he stood with his father he could begin to prioritize other things. It may have been selfish of him to put his father above the fate of the world, but he thought the world owed him that much.

 

“Hey Dad, how about we take the rest of this and go? It smells in here and it’s loud,” Kakashi set rather petulantly. Or, at least, he _hoped_ it sounded petulant. It was hard for him to gauge the emotions of a child. It might’ve just come out exasperated.

 

Sakumo nodded and collected their food before ushering his son out the door. The cool breeze that usually occupied Konoha’s summer days ruffled their hair and blew lazily at their clothing, sending leaves scattering to and fro. It was picture-perfect weather, and the sky was so blue it belonged on a postcard. For once, Kakashi wasn’t caught up in memories, but just content with enjoying the beautiful day. It served well to distract him from the conversation he’d have to face when he got home.

 

Kakashi’s father was of different opinion on the matter. He was almost obsessively cataloguing his surroundings, including the people around him, their potential threat level, and any possible escape routes. His son, because he came out with him, was integrated into these thought processes. A ninja’s situational awareness was always top notch or they’d be dead, and it wasn’t something one turned off because they were inside the walls of their village, but Sakumo was doing so to an unhealthy level where he couldn’t let his guard down at all and only escaped constant flinching from his sheer force of will. Kakashi realized this but didn’t comment. Not yet.

 

The rest of the walk was tense, to say the least. Neither father nor son said a word, each in their own world, contemplating their own problems, trying and failing to ignore their glaring mistakes. Ironic how similar they were and how different they perceived each other to be.

 

By the time they made it to the Hatake compound and half sat, half fell into the chairs in the living room, both had things on their mind they were unwilling to say aloud.

 

 _Time to suck it up,_ Kakashi thought as he cleared his throat. His father’s piercing eyes came to rest on his semi-covered face and he was immensely grateful that he wore a mask.

 

“What happened on your mission—“ He was cut off.

 

“Wasn’t an issue, Kakashi. The mission was successful, and it greatly improved Konoha’s standing in the war. Everything else is classified,” Sakumo said swiftly, obviously meaning to shut that route of conversation down. Unfortunately for him, his son wasn’t about to back down.

 

Kakashi huffed, and for once the childish gesture was sincere. “I’m not stupid, Dad. I know it’s classified, but I don’t want mission specifics, I want the results.” That earned him an eyebrow raised in intrigue. He could see behind the gesture. _And the difference is?_

“How many came back?” he asked quietly. He got no response for a tense, horrible minute where he refused to look his father in the face.

 

Sakumo’s façade cracked and fell away at that blunt question. He wouldn’t look at his son nor acknowledge he’d heard him. This wasn’t something his five year old should even care about, not when previously he’d been all about following the rules and completing the mission. The older Hatake’s emotions were, quite bluntly, a shit storm. The only reason he wasn’t already in a heap on the floor was his years of self-discipline and ninja training. And war. _Must give credit where credit is due,_ Sakumo thought wryly.

 

Kakashi spoke up again. “None of them came back.” It wasn’t a question.

 

The slow, deliberate shake of Sakumo’s head told Kakashi how close the man was to breaking. It brought forth all the memories of yesterday: the loss of his teammates, the Third Shinobi World War, the dead and dying, Minato-sensei’s death, the Fourth Shinobi World War, the burning flesh of innocent civilians, the blood as it ran down his arm after impaling Obito with a Chidori. He _knew_ what his father was going through, God damn it, and he wasn’t about to let him go through it alone, no matter how badly it might blow his cover.

 

“Really, Kakashi, I’m fine, so just—“

 

“Stop! Just _stop_!” Kakashi shouted, effectively drawing his father’s attention. “I know what it’s like to lose everyone around you! I know what it’s like to watch, helpless, as your teammates are slaughtered, or you’re the one to slaughter them. I know the bloody battlefields of war and the stench of rotting corpses. The pained wails of mortally wounded men. I know what it’s like to finally find another team to trust and then watch them die, too. I understand the pain of throwing yourself into suicide missions every other day just to push things you don’t want to deal with to the back of your mind, and I understand the horrible realization you get when you’ve killed your thousandth man and it’s long ago ceased to matter.

 

“I _know_! Dad, I’m not stupid enough to think that you’re okay because I’m related to you and I’m most certainly _not_ okay. But no matter what you’re willing to tell me, you _will not dare_ to tell me you’re fine. Do not _dare_ to brush this off like it’s any other mission.

 

_“Don’t leave me again!”_

 

Shocked wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the expression on Sakumo Hatake’s face after his son finished his rant. Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what he was feeling when he’d registered most of what his son had said because anyone who would lay a finger on his son was dead. Disbelief wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what his mind was telling him after he thought through what Kakashi was implying. Confusion wasn’t strong enough describe the feeling of feeling everything at once.

 

Kakashi knew he’d blown his cover and that his father might just throw him into a mental institution after this conversation, but, if he was honest with himself, he knew he couldn’t keep his time-travel to himself forever, and who better to tell than his father? Unlike everyone else, whose futures could be changed if he revealed things too early, Sakumo never got a future after he killed himself within the next couple months, and so, while his father’s presence might change things, nothing would be directly affected from his meddling. At least, nothing he could possibly predict.

 

“…Kakashi? What?...” Sakumo was at a loss for words and didn’t seem able to voice his questions. He was worried for his son, who obviously wasn’t the same little boy he remembered from a couple days ago. Kakashi had been acting strange from the moment he woke up on the day Sakumo left for his mission, and here he was reinforcing the fact that, somehow, the silver-haired boy in front of him that looked so much like himself was altogether someone different.

 

Kakashi took a deep breath and met his father’s eyes, the eyes of the White Fang of the Leaf, Sakumo Hatake. Steadying his resolve, he stood up and said, “I’ll tell you what you obviously want to know, but only if you promise me one thing first.”

 

Sakumo nodded, a little uncertain. _What could he want?_

 

“Don’t ever leave.”

 

“I promise.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           


	7. Seven

_“The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy.” –John F. Kennedy_

Seven

 

            If anyone were to ask him, Sakumo Hatake would say he was a realist. He was a ninja and ninja were all about practicality and facing hard truths. You could be optimistic all you wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that your friends are dead beside you and there’s a kunai aimed for your throat. He knew as well as any veteran ninja that their lives were hard, but they had to be lived if their village was to be kept safe.

 

            So it’s not much of a surprise that his senses of practicality and realism were deeply ingrained and that he wasn’t the sort to blindly accept everything told to him. Especially when that thing was time-travel because, honestly, that couldn’t be true, could it? That was literally out of a sci-fi movie that the civilians liked to go see and most definitely _not_ something that could truly occur. If it were possible, how come others hadn’t changed the past before now? Or, now that he thought about it, Sakumo realized maybe someone had, but no one remembered.

 

            That was disturbing to think about.

 

            Either way, even with his mind screaming at him to not believe the utter bullshit coming out of his five year old son’s mouth, he believed the boy. The way Kakashi spoke about the things he’d seen and done, the way his eyes seemed to dull at the mention of another dead comrade, the hours he described standing at the memorial stone, or the utter regret and self-loathing that seemed ever-present on his features convinced Sakumo beyond anything else that Kakashi wasn’t lying.

 

            Which, ironically, worried him a lot more than it would have if Kakashi had been lying. In the future, Kakashi had been (would be?) an ex-ANBU and experienced Jounin, meaning he was as hardened, if not more so, than Sakumo himself, and that scared him a little. What kind of horrors did his son have to endure? And by the way he kept forgetting about his left eye, it must’ve been injured badly in a probably less-than-pleasant situation. From the meager accounts Kakashi had given him so far, how was his son so…normal-sounding? I mean, he acted like any typical, run-of-the-mill Jounin, when by all accounts he shouldn’t be all that sane, let alone functioning so well.

 

            With that in mind, Sakumo decided his problems weren’t all that important right now, so he stood up and hoisted Kakashi out of his chair before plopping down himself and resting the boy on his lap. When Kakashi didn’t even protest, he knew he’d made the right assumption that he wasn’t around for some reason or another in the future.

 

            “You can explain it to me another time if you want,” he said slowly, hoping to put his son more at ease. By the miniscule relaxing of Kakashi’s shoulders, it seemed he’d at least partially achieved this goal.

 

            “No.” Kakashi was absolutely resolute, apparently, to continue with his recount of the future, and Sakumo guessed that it was because the weight of carrying all that around was becoming too much, even for someone as strong as Kakashi, to bear alone.

 

            Sakumo and Kakashi sat in their living room, both completely engrossed for one reason or another, long into the night and long after the sun came up the next morning. Kakashi’s tale went through excruciatingly painful losses, brutal missions, his teammate Rin’s horrible death, his Sharingan, hundreds of stays in the hospital for chakra exhaustion, savage battles that left hundreds of rotting corpses pooling in their own blood, the death of the next generation Team 7, and his student Naruto’s final sacrifice to his village—sending him back in time. As time wore on, Sakumo found it more and more disturbing, wondering, again, how in the world his son was even functioning.

 

            But woven throughout the story, albeit subtly, were flashes of bright moments; being taken in by Minato Namikaze, the boy’s future sensei, and being told by the teammate that hated him that he, Sakumo, was a hero, and finally passing a Genin team, and getting to know all of the Rookie 9 and Team Guy. Sakumo guessed that these were the things keeping Kakashi afloat, allowing him to keep trudging on despite the pressure always bearing down on him. And for all Kakashi’s flaws, mistakes, and atrocities, Sakumo really was proud of his son. Proud that he didn’t take the easy way out, unlike him.

 

            Kakashi wouldn’t come out and say it, but Sakumo wasn’t a veteran for nothing, and could easily discern what had happened to him. Hadn’t he considered seppuku not but a few hours ago? Hadn’t he practically come to the decision that he didn’t deserve to live when his teammates died? Those thoughts brought him to the one thing Kakashi kept asking about, but he wouldn’t divulge.

 

            His mission had been successful, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Considering the ramifications of what his team had done, the Third War might blow over, or it might spark even hotter than before, and he couldn’t deny he was nervous as to the outcome of his actions. The fresh memories came easily to mind.

 

* * *

 

            _It all had started when the Third Hokage called Sakumo’s team into his office at the God-awful hour of two in the morning. Korharu Funaki and Sora Kuramoto stood next to Sakumo and all of them were barely awake, wondering why on Earth the Hokage would want them at this time._

_Of all the characteristics of Hiruzen Sarutobi, let it not be said that the man couldn’t be blunt when he needed to. Or, more likely, after he’d had a couple cups of sake. Either way, the laid-back old man many thought him to be was entirely misleading._

_“Torture and Interrogation has unearthed some rather promising information,” the Third began, slowly swirling the last of the alcohol at the bottom of his glass. He waited a few moments, as if to let that sink in, before continuing, still without making eye contact. “Under normal circumstances, I would send an ANBU team to deal with something of this nature, but my hands happen to be tied. Suna is already suspicious enough as it is, and because of the fiasco with their Kazekage and the spotlight on Konoha’s Special Forces, I can’t risk sending any more of them across Fire country boarders. Iwa seems to be itching for war, and I have no doubt Onoki would take any excuse available, no matter how meager, to drag Kiri and Kumo in on their side under the assumption that Konoha is sabotaging governments with ANBU.”_

_Korharu sucked in a sharp breath and Sora stiffened ever so slightly, but Sakumo understood completely that Sarutobi was between a rock and a hard place with whatever information T &I happened to uncover. Some thought the position of a kage required strength alone, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. As a leader of ninja, a kage had to be cunning, stealthy, and sharp not only in their battle prowess, but their political dealings. _

_The Third Hokage raised his head and looked all three team members in the eye in turn, his gaze piercing as if he could see into their very soul. Under this gaze, it wasn’t hard to believe Sarutobi as the God of Ninja. You quickly forgot about the wrinkles around his mouth and the weary acceptance in his eyes when you were being evaluated, tested of your worth. Sakumo had no doubt in the Third’s strength, but he what he would bet his life on was the man’s judgement._

_Opening a sealed drawer in his desk, Sarutobi removed a thin manila file and slid it across the smooth mahogany surface. “This report contains all of your mission specifics, but be aware you’re on a strict need-to-know basis. The only reason your team won’t trace back to Konoha is you, Korharu, as you’re our top genjutsu specialist in the entire Jounin ranks. I want a clean operation, in and out as fast as possible. Don’t leave witnesses, don’t leave any trace back to us, and most importantly, don’t fuck this up. Am I clear?”_

_He received two respectful nods and a, “Crystal, sir,” from Sakumo. All three Jounins saluted and Body Flickered out of the Hokage tower to review the mission in private. From the look of things, Sakumo knew they’d have a high stakes infiltration and assassination, most likely on information from the newly acquired Suna spy that was tough as nails to interrogate. It took Morino and his menace of a brat, Ibiki, a month to get the man to utter a single word besides his name, country of origin, rank, and identification number._

_They planned out their mission down to the minute, keeping in mind that plans never survive contact with the enemy. Korharu had the toughest job because he had to use a new genjutsu he invented that temporarily replaced people’s memories with fake ones until the jutsu was released. A ninja doesn’t have to act as a civilian because for all intents and purposes, he truly believes that’s what he is. Unfortunately, it takes a lot to keep up, and Korharu had to make sure he could remove it from himself, or it would all be for naught._

_Sora was the best assassin other than ANBU, and in fact had already been offered over a dozen times to join the mask-wearing spec ops. She could kill a person in so many different ways, leaving behind only the evidence she’s instructed to. If the client wants people to know the victim was assassinated, she can leave the bloody physical evidence, or a burnt corpse, or something similar, but if it shouldn’t get out, she uses untraceable poison, would bleed a man dry so as not spill any blood, or use the assassination jutsu she invented that used lightning chakra to cause the heart to go into cardiac arrest, like any run-of-the-mill heart attack._

_Finally was Sakumo, the team leader. He was a powerhouse all around. He threw out A and S-ranked ninjutsu like they were nothing and could spit a white-hot Uchiha fireball like he was blowing a bubble. His taijutsu was precise and deadly, targeting pressure points and vital areas, crippling the opponent within a matter of seconds. His genjutsu wasn’t amazing, but he had plenty of knowledge for recognizing, dispelling, and even weaving low-level genjutsu. He had rudimentary sealing knowledge his young Jounin friend Minato Namikaze taught him, and his weapons skills were absolutely devastating, able to nail a target from a couple hundred feet away easily with a kunai or shuriken. Not to mention the fact that he was a great tactician. Maybe not a Nara, but he rivaled some of the best when it came to battle strategies. His kenjutsu wasn’t anything to scoff at either._

_In the report Sarutobi had given them, they were to leave the village by eight o’clock the next morning, packed for a short mission. Usually it would take days just to get to the Suna boarder and at least a couple weeks to set up a reliable infiltration, but in this case the circumstances were special. Not only did it have to be completely quiet, but it had to be speedy. Another reason for choosing Sakumo’s team was the Hatake’s ninken who were superb trackers and could sniff out the target within fifty miles easily and as far out as a hundred without getting confused._

_As for the apparent inhuman speed, that was the real reason why Sora was to be feared, not strictly her ability to kill so efficiently. (That wasn’t a rare trait in ANBU.) In the Bingo Book, she was an S-rank ninja given the moniker ‘Thieving Coyote’. She was deadly accurate with a bow, so that contributed, and she was so exceptionally deceptive she could infiltrate anywhere, but Sora had studied under Jiraiya of the Sannin with Minato Namikaze in sealing. Those two were considered Konoha’s next up-and-coming seal masters, and they both had taken an interest in Space-Time seals. Minato was still working out kinks with his Flying Thunder God technique, which was made more instantaneous transportation, but Sora had completed her first custom seal called the Bolting Arrow._

_Her seal would be coveted after her death, but the seal was formulated only to her and any direct descendants. The Bolting Arrow could be placed wherever in the Elemental Nations Sora wished and all she had to do was shoot her special arrows which also had the seal on them, and she used it as long-distance teleportation, so to speak. While the Flying Thunder God Technique was for close combat, using the Bolting Arrow Sora could send anything she pinned with an arrow to any of the seals set up around the world. She could banish enemies and get friends safely within Konoha. Needless to say, that seal would be sorely missed._

_That’s how Sakumo’s team was planning on travelling. If he’d known how quickly everything would go to utter shit, he’d have walked the whole way there if only to give himself more time with them._

* * *

 

            But what was done was done, and Sakumo realized that he couldn’t dwell on the past. During his son’s explanation, Kakashi had described how he always lived in the past, sometimes still did, and how Might Guy always berated him for it, forcing him into ridiculous contests just to keep his mind off the pain. To allow him to forget the ache still present in his chest when he stopped too long to think about it, if only for a brief time.

 

            Glancing at his son, who was now asleep in his lap, Sakumo couldn’t help but only see the five year old boy that was so mature for his age, not the man knew Kakashi really was. He looked so peaceful, so _young,_ with the faint frown he’d had since the day of the mission gone and the weight lifted off his shoulders if only a little. The White Fang couldn’t help but wish he could’ve been there for his son before instead of driving him to some of the actions of Kakashi’s younger years.

 

            And yet, he couldn’t be prouder of how his son had turned out. For all the mistakes and failures, for all the people Kakashi said he’d let down, Sakumo knew that his son was willing to fight to the last breath for his loved ones. That every battle he was willing to die; hell, he _had_ died once, and apparently made his peace with Sakumo before being brought back.

 

            He stroked Kakashi’s unruly silver hair and hugged him a little closer. Just as he’d promised Kakashi, Sakumo wouldn’t leave his son, his son that so obviously needed him, his son that was so close to breaking it was painful. If he’d truly killed himself and Kakashi had to go through that again, he wasn’t confident the boy wouldn’t follow him right along. It would be too much.

 

            “I love you, Kakashi,” he whispered to no one in particular as he rose with his son in his arms. “You might not have laid your life down, but surviving is just as brave and yet just as sad. But I know you’re a survivor.”

 

            Weak rays of sun filtered in through the blinds and cast pale yellow and shadows across the floor, making everything dance in a watered down light. It turned his and Kakashi’s hair a slight yellow color and it made him chuckle a little. Kakashi stirred slightly in his arms, but Sakumo took him to his room and laid him gently on the bed, covering him up and kissing his forehead.

 

            Kakashi mumbled and turned over, burying his face into his pillow before getting out something along the lines of, “…I promise…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this next chapter is for sure going to have a kickass fight. I want any feedback of course, and if anything seems too OOC. I didn’t think any of it all that out of character, but I could be wrong.
> 
> Anyone else liking that Sakumo’s alive? I just found he’s almost always dead when I don’t think that would be the case. Plus, Sakumo and Kakashi kicking ass and taking names together? Honestly, what could be better?


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve edited the story in a small way. Instead of six, Kakashi is five. I had to go back to the manga, but he became a Genin at five, so that’s how old he is right now. Small change, so you don’t have to go back and reread, but FYI.

_“The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his.” –George S. Patton_

Eight

 

            For all the things he’d learned in his brutal lifetime, unfortunately getting rid of nightmares wasn’t included. He felt as if every time he closed his eyes the images flashed behind his eyelids, spinning him into a cacophony of horrible reminders, usually someone’s gruesome death. No eyes, slit throat, bashed-in head, gutted, charred, impaled, dismembered, you name it and he’d seen it. The Fourth War was ten times worse than the Third because of Madara’s sick sense of humor.

 

            For the first three or four months, everything was pretty even. The Zetsus couldn’t really stand up to the ninja effectively, but they had numbers on their side. However, after enough ninja had been killed in action, teams started reporting their dead teammates showing up and slaughtering their fellow comrades. Kakashi remembered when he’d first encountered the Edo Tensei, and how absolutely horrified and enraged he was at seeing Asuma fighting against Team 10. That’s how Chouji had been killed—by his own sensei because of a sick jutsu of Kabuto’s.

 

            After Guy was killed personally by Kabuto, his reanimated corpse was used to kill Tenten, which left Lee mourning his entire team, one right after the other. Kiba’s reanimated body killed his older sister and Akamaru. When Naruto saw Sakura’s body attacking his forces, he’d flipped his shit and gone six-tails even though he had control of Kurama. Eventually everyone caught on and burned dead bodies, but it was truly too late. The Edo Tensei allowed the dead body to use all the same jutsu, which pitted the best ninja against each other and caused severe losses on the Allies’ side.

 

            That’s what Kakashi was thinking about after waking up from a particularly gut-wrenching nightmare. He was covered in a cold sweat, his body shaking uncontrollably and his heart beat racing in his chest. _I’m okay, I’m not there anymore. Kurenai’s not dead, neither is Asuma Jr. I’m here to change all that. I’m fine._

 

            He knew he wasn’t. He knew with absolute certainty that he was screwed up, possibly beyond repair. Everything he’d seen throughout his life had haunted him, haunted him to the point where he’d been a hair’s breadth away from straight up slitting his wrists on numerous occasions. His mental state was absolutely horrendous, and he was sure that if a Yamanaka were to take a look, they’d probably be scarred for life. There was no going back anymore—even if this life turned out a thousand times better than the last, he knew he’d never forget the first time around. He just hoped he’d be able to get past it without breaking down.

 

            Suddenly, there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. Immediately, Kakashi tensed and reached for the kunai under his pillow, preparing himself for an attack. As the door opened and he pulled back his arm, he realized where he was and quickly dropped his weapon, the kunai landing tip-down in his wood floor with a firm _thunk._ His father’s slightly widened eyes took in the situation quickly and, to Sakumo’s credit, the man pretended he hadn’t seen that.

 

            “I just thought I should wake you up for the Academy,” he said slowly before seeming to realize something. “Although I guess you wouldn’t remember that, huh? I mean, it’s been how long?” The way he said it was distinctly uncomfortable, as if talking about time-travel solidified its reality.

 

            “Maa, at least twenty-five years,” Kakashi said off-handedly as he dislodged the kunai from his floor. Now that he thought about it, the couple of days his father was gone on his mission, Kakashi probably missed a couple of days at the Academy. Honestly, he was dreading going back to that place. The teachers hadn’t been able to teach him anything the first time around except the attempt at teamwork and cooperation, and he sure as hell didn’t need that anymore. The day he forgot teamwork was the day he time-traveled.

 

            …Well. Bad analogy, but the idea is there.

 

            Sakumo just nodded his head and left, knowing his son would be out in a few minutes, and to leave him alone with his thoughts. Kakashi quickly changed into a navy blue T-shirt over mesh and a pair of black cargo pants he’d found after digging through the rest of his wardrobe. (He was mildly surprised, but chalked it up to his father and his relationship when he was a child.) His kunai pouch went on his right leg and his pack was on his left hip, but to be extra careful he added some extra shuriken and kunai to his pants pockets along with a handful of scrolls. His customary mask was tugged up and he instinctually tried to tilt his forehead protector until he realized not only did he not have one, but he didn’t need to tilt it.

 

            _This is going to take a while to get used to,_ he groaned inwardly. He knew he was being a little childish, but he figured he had the right to do that shamelessly now. (Not that he’d be making a habit of it.) That’s when he realized how helpful Naruto’s modified transformation technique was really going to be. Even after he was used to his younger body, if he were in a bad situation, he could even the playing field by changing into his older self. Naruto never realized it, but that jutsu would be considered and S-rank if anyone ever found out about it.

 

            And to think the boy hadn’t even known he was doing something different than a regular _henge._ Kakashi would make sure he would eventually get credit for that, even if he wasn’t the one to use it first in this timeline.

 

            Now that he really had time to calm down and take a real account of his surroundings, he was realizing how much he’d missed this—the home he’d grown up in with his father. And now that he had his father back and didn’t have to hide from the man, the Hatake compound could become that again. Instead of the desolate, aching reminder of what he’d lost, it served as the representation of what he could do with his second chance, and that the future may not be set in stone.

 

            It was only a small thing, but it was a start, and that’s all he needed.

 

            Upon entering the kitchen, he saw his father was already eating a small breakfast of toast and coffee, reading a newspaper and scowling slightly. Kakashi wasn’t sure what exactly was going on at this point in time, so he figured he should probably educate himself.

 

            “What’re you reading about? It couldn’t be all that pleasant, as you look to be setting the paper on fire with that glare,” he joked good-naturedly as he took a seat in their old barstools next to his father. Neither of them missed the underlying meaning to the quip. _What went wrong?_

Sakumo shook his head and laid the paper down. “It looks as if the war is sparking even more violently before, and no one’s sure exactly what will happen,” he confessed wearily. “That mission I just completed? Well let’s just say the man we assassinated and stole information from was not someone Iwa was willing to part with.”

 

            Kakashi understood and nodded. How many people had he killed to find out about the less-than-pleasant backlash later? “So what does the Hokage plan on doing about it?”

 

            At that, Sakumo smirked and chuckled a little. “Well,” he drawled, “that’s what the council meeting today is for. In fact, it’s in about an hour and my presence has been all but demanded. I’m the representative for the Hatake clan anyway, but as I completed the mission, well you can guess.”

 

            Leaning forward onto his elbows, Kakashi thought about what the council could do with this development. Old man Sarutobi, though he wasn’t as old now, probably wouldn’t know exactly what to do with the escalated aggression since he was generally a pacifist if at all possible. From what Kakashi remembered, the Third Hokage had drawn out officially declaring war as long as possible even though it was costing lives of the border patrols because reinforcements couldn’t be legally dispatched. Knowing that, he might have an idea how to manipulate the council into ‘coming to’ a decision that would have them stumbled across the Akatsuki, maybe expose their intentions. Besides, putting Danzō in his place would be completely worth it.

 

            “Do you know anything about the Akatsuki?” he asked his father. Maybe Sakumo would have a better idea what the organization meant at this point in time. Otherwise, he’d have to hunt down that Chunin and probably _extract_ the answers from him. He may look five, but he wasn’t above a little torture and interrogation if need be.

 

            The White Fang tipped his head back to think, but when he met his son’s eyes he seemed to recall something, apparently unpleasant. “Daybreak? I don’t think so. Why?”

 

            “Hmm,” Kakashi hummed, lost in thought. “You’ve never seen the red cloud on anyone’s jacket or know what it means?”

 

            As soon as he’d said red cloud, his father seemed to recognize that. “Of course I have. But they’re not called the Akatsuki. You must mean the Resukyu. Yeah, everyone’s heard of them. Again, why?”

 

            The younger Hatake frowned. Everyone knew of them? Resukyu, the Rescue? What could that mean, and how had Jiraiya, who everyone prided as a spy master, not have made the connection in the future? “I—I’ll tell you when we have more time, but you should know they’ll be a threat. Anybody recruiting S-rank missing nins is bad news.”

 

            That elicited a surprising reaction from his father, who shot him a disbelieving look and literally burst out laughing like what he’d just what absolutely ridiculous. “Recruiting S-rank missing ninja? Resukyu? Do you mean the same organization that collects donations to rebuild or recuperate failing or failed Hidden Villages? Like, the ones that are sorting through Whirlpool as we speak and tracking down the last Uzumakis?”

 

            _What…?_ Kakashi couldn’t wrap his mind around it. What kind of operation was this? He finds out that the Akatsuki was formed long before they became a threat to Konoha, and yet they’re well-known for helping out Hidden Villages? Through donations? _Wait…_

 

            “What kind of money are we talking here?” Kakashi asked, fairly certain of the answer. _If they’re using this cover to gather resources…_

 

            Sakumo thought it over for a moment before saying, “It’s an ungodly amount I’m sure. They don’t release bank statements or anything like that, but they’ve been sifting through Whirlpool for at least two years now and claim to be able to rebuild almost the whole thing by next year.”

 

            Kakashi stiffened at the implications. If they’ve gone under the ruse of rebuilding ninja villages then they would have a myriad of opportunities to pilfer techniques, study up on family histories, and gain an unprecedented amount of information on ninja all over the Elemental Nations. Not only that, but their financial resources from donations could reach a staggering amount in that they wouldn’t plan on using most of it for another fifteen years at least. _It’s no wonder the Akatsuki would have the spy network and resources of the future if they’d been hiding behind this ruse for such a long time._

 

            That really begged the question, though: what could he possibly do about it? Their dealings were probably completely legitimate at this point in time, or at least crazily well-hidden. There would be no easy way to expose what the organization could _possibly_ be doing unless there were something to warrant a closer look, which he didn’t think there was. If they’d been functioning so long, they would have a highly efficient way to hide any underhanded dealings and ulterior motives from prying eyes. As far as he could tell, he was at a huge disadvantage, even with his foreknowledge. He’d need more proof than the word of a five-year-old Academy student.

 

            Not to mention, he couldn’t dismiss the fact that it this could be a coincidence. Nagato wasn’t old enough to have formed the Akatsuki yet, but if the Resukyu had dissolved during the Third War, then he may have just used the logo for his organization, thinking it wouldn’t matter because the Akatsuki wouldn’t be known for a long time after that. By the time they became active, anyone that really remembered the Resukyu wouldn’t care because it didn’t matter what your opponent was called as long as they were trying to basically end the world. However, Kakashi knew that in the career as a ninja, there were almost never any coincidences, and he wouldn’t bet the lives of so many people on the fact that Resukyu and the Akatsuki weren’t of the same interests. If that was the case, then who ran the Resukyu? Was that public knowledge also? He’d have to do a lot more information gathering, and probably ask his dad to do some, too, if he wanted to be prepared.

 

            “Well,” he finally said, knowing he wouldn’t get any answer right now. “I’ll head off to the Academy. Fill me in on the council meeting later?” Sakumo nodded, so he stood up to leave, still turning over the new revelations in his head.

 

            “Take a jacket, it’s pouring,” his father called just as he was about to open the front door. He did as he was told and snagged a black rain jacket off the coatrack before stepping into the brunt of the day’s desolate weather.

 

            The walk to the Academy was surprisingly refreshing even though it was raining. Though not all that unexpected considering his personality, Kakashi loved rain. While some saw it as dreary and inconvenient, representing the darker side of nature, he thought it was cleansing and new, representing growth and a clean slate. It was the just-as-necessary darker side of nature, and while some chose to avoid it, he’d always embraced the rain with open arms. Maybe it would finally wash off some of the blood on his hands.

 

            Unlikely, but he’d lied to Sasuke, Sakura, and Naruto during their team introductions. He had a dream—to be able to one day wash the blood off his hands.

 

            As his feet and sandals became soaked in the filthy puddles along the street and his hair shined with droplets of rain, he calmed himself down. Knowing he was going to be seeing all of his dead teammates allowed him to prepare himself. Besides, not only were they alive, but they were Academy students and not the same people he’d come to know in the future. Although, he still knew their potential and personalities inside and out, so he could prepare them for what was to come and hopefully spare them some of the atrocities from his first life. (He decided ‘first life’ was an accurate enough depiction of his pre-time-travel.)

 

            The Academy building was decently sized, though nothing fancy, with standard white siding, red roof, and numerous wings and floors to fit four years of prospecting ninja. Everything was kept non-descript, and the grounds were mostly sandy fields with patches of grass here and there. Behind the entrance was Naruto’s infamous “Lonely Swing” and the nook to the right of the doors was where Sakura would verbally spar with Ino every morning before class. Sasuke would, of course, be leaning against the side of the building up until exactly ten minutes before the bell, in which he would scowl his way through the halls to avoid making conversation.

 

            Kakashi’s own days in the Academy were limited—his “genius” allowed him to pass in less than a year when most went at one to one-and-a-half, even in war time. The seven months he was in the Academy were mind-numbingly boring and, since he wasn’t known for his cheery disposition, he never really conversed with his fellow students. He ignored them by rudely turning down their attempts at friendship, or even amiable conversation, and they eventually returned the gesture in kind. The only time he ever spoke was to answer a direct question or belittle someone—mostly Obito.

 

            Upon reaching the front doors he saw a number of familiar faces. Guy, Asuma, Kurenai, and Anko were lounging by the doors and chatting idly. Their faces were round with youth and their eyes were void of the shadows death and destruction had eventually clouded them with. They were young, impressionable, and ignorant to the inner workings of their profession. Honestly, Kakashi didn’t think he was ever like that—not that he could remember anyway. He’d never truly had a childhood, one of the many regrets of his life.

 

            “Ah! Kakashi! You are looking quite youthful this morning despite the deplorable weather!” Guy shouted as soon as he spotted Kakashi. The young Hatake winced. He’d forgotten about his soon-to-be eternal rival’s boisterous greetings every morning before class. ( _It’s the trivial things,_ he joked to himself.)

 

            Kakashi wasn’t sure how exactly he would’ve answered his friend (he did count Guy as a friend) at this point in time, but decided to hell with it and gave a small smile under his mask. “Thanks. Keeping up your taijutsu?” As if he needed to ask that.

 

            The answer, however, caused the nearby students, a.k.a. his future friends, to blanch and stare at him in shock. _Damn, was I that big of an asshole?_ he thought self-deprecatingly.

 

            To Guy’s credit, he quickly collected himself and just struck a Nice Guy pose, blinding smile and all. “Yosh! Kakashi seems to be in quite a good mood today!” The sight brought back unwanted memories for the silver-haired student, and had to turn away as the image of Guy’s dead body, with his butchered musculature and the hole in his chest resulting from Kabuto ripping his heart out, came rushing to the forefront of his mind. And that was _after_ he’d already died from opening all Eight Celestial Gates, just as his father Duy had. Kabuto was just fucking with everyone at that point.

 

            _This is going to be a long day,_ was the thought passing through Kakashi’s mind as he made his way inside, studiously avoiding anyone he knew too well in his first life.

 

* * *

 

            Sakumo was so fed up with these idiotic civilian council members he was about to slit all their stupid-ass throats. And that was only if he were feeling nice, which he wasn’t particularly. First, the crazy conversation with his five-year-old time traveler (because everyone did that, right?) and then the revelation about the Resukyu, or Akatsuki, or whatever. Now he had to sit through some ridiculous council meeting that was really just a political ploy by Danzō to wrench more power away from the Hokage. The civilian council was just trying to back the old war hawk up without having any real knowledge about the situation or how ninjas functioned, and it was frustrating to no freaking end.

 

            “Obviously letting regular Jounin handle ANBU-sensitive missions was not a good idea, Hokage-sama,” Danzō said in a demeaning tone of voice, obviously trying to make it look like Hiruzen didn’t know what he was doing. The Hokage stiffened and shot him a withering glare intermixed with killing intent.

 

            “You are well aware of the situation, and ANBU cannot safely be sent out of Fire Country boarders unless you _want_ to start the Third Shinobi World War. However, the information obtained by Morino was more than sufficient to warrant something be done, and I dispatched a capable team.” Hiruzen was not about to back down, and Sakumo could tell that the Third was just as fed up with this whole ordeal as he was.

 

            Danzō scoffed, his wrinkles pulling tighter and his face taking on a cruel quality. “I am no fool, but Root could’ve taken care of this situation without it ever getting back to Konoha. As it stands, we’ve lost two highly skilled Jounin with one knowing the secrets to one of Konoha’s most advantageous seals, now lost to history. While you might’ve deemed this important, we’ve lost too much in the bargain. Besides, war is imminent and you’re still dancing around the issue like it’ll go away if you ignore it long enough!”

 

            “ENOUGH!” the Third Hokage roared, killing intent filling the room and suffocating its occupants, even making Danzō gasp for breath, clawing at the table. Sakumo wasn’t much better off, and the killing intent wasn’t even directed at him. He was glad he’d never been on Sarutobi’s bad side considering he didn’t think he’d live through the encounter.

 

            The Third’s face was absolutely murderous. Slamming his hand onto the conference table he said, in a deathly low voice, “While I may be old, I’m not senile and I know the ramifications of the mission. Are you suggesting, Danzō- _sama_ that I am not capable of reading a report?” The leader of Root paled and shook his head quickly, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the much killer intent again. Sarutobi was considered the God of Shinobi for a reason.

 

            “While the outcome was unfortunate, I still believe it was our best option. The mission will not trace back to Konoha, and no one will be able to say even ANBU was there. We will be clear of any blame, though how the border skirmishes will escalate, there is no way to predict,” Sarutobi said calmly, slowly waning his murderous glare at Danzō.

 

            Sakumo glanced at the ninja council, which up until that point had been mostly silent. It seemed the clan heads of the Yamanaka, Akimichi, and Nara were engaged in a somewhat silent conversation, obviously going over the mission specifics. Nara were known for their intelligence, and Sakumo was sure he was thinking up contingency after contingency plan, just in case something were to go wrong. Deciding to ignore the verbal sparring between the Hokage and his old teammate, Sakumo slid over to Inochi, Chōza, and Shikaku. 

 

            The infamous Ino-Shika-Cho team wasn’t completely on the council because Inochi wasn’t yet willing to give up his position as clan head, but it was assumed that within the year Inoichi, the up-and-coming head interrogator at T&I, would take over as acting clan head in lieu of his father.

 

            The White Fang leaned over towards the group and said casually, “What are you planning now, Shikaku?”

 

            The Nara head just groaned slightly and muttered a ‘troublesome’, but other than that just sat back and gazed at Sakumo, as if he were debating whether or not his intelligence was up to par. Shikaku was undeniably lazy, as were most Naras, but the large gash across his face, which was fairly recent, was what stood out and caused most to cringe away. Not ninja, unless they were rookies, but that was beside the point. His hair was done up with a simple hair tie, sticking out every which way making it look like a pineapple. He was slouched and relaxed, though if you knew him long enough you’d see the underlying tension in his posture, and his ability to hop into action at any second.

 

            It reminded Sakumo of Korharu, but he shoved that thought out of his mind and focused on Nara’s teammates, who were not shoddy themselves and would most likely recognize the same thing in their friend. The White Fang noticed them pick it up and decided it would be good to come off a little more empathetic than he usually would for this type of conversation, but he needed answers, especially where Kakashi was involved, and Shikaku’s theories proved true enough times not to write them away.

 

            “I don’t know about you, but this not-so-subtle power play isn’t really Danzō’s style. Why would he be riled up so suddenly?” Sakumo asked under his breath. The three clan heads immediately stopped talking and exchanged looks.

 

            Inochi Yamanaka was a hard man, and was much more useful when it came to torture than interrogation, unlike his son who could extract information from just about anyone. His short, pale blonde hair was an unusual color for Konoha, but not quite on the scale of the Namikaze’s blinding yellow or the Uzumaki’s fire-engine red. He was clever and cunning, though not the most intelligent when it came to book smarts or tactical plans. The usual approach for him was to just charge in and pummel it until it died, which was a decidedly unusual personality among the mind walking Yamanakas. He obviously wasn’t keeping up all that well with Shikaku in the first place and therefore didn’t answer Sakumo’s question.

 

            Chōza Akimichi was also one of the more interesting people in his clan, for his techniques were sometimes a little unorthodox. A big man that wasn’t afraid to rough someone up a bit, and that could probably kick the ass of most of the village’s other Jounin, especially with the help of the Akimichi clan’s modified green, yellow, and red soldier pills. However, he was mildly quiet, and didn’t usually volunteer information unless asked a direct question, or whatever he has to say is important enough to warrant him telling you directly. So, Chōza didn’t bother answering Sakumo either, knowing his Nara friend would.

 

            Skikaku Nara was just like every other of his clan: off the charts intelligent, an absolutely brilliant strategist, amiable but rough disposition, and goddamn lazy. Sakumo was sure the young man wasn’t trying to be rude, but he didn’t answer the question for a good couple minutes, seeming to either think about it, or thinking about dumbing it down. (Sakumo would bet on the latter.)

 

            Shikaku leaned back in his chair and gave Sakumo a look before saying quietly, “Danzō is always playing multiple angles, and I have a feeling he’s trying to get his hands on the jinchuuriki of the Nine-Tails. No one in this room knows who it is besides the Hokage, a select few confidantes like Jiraiya, and apparently Danzō who most assured has spies and bugs planted everywhere.”

 

            _Of course,_ Sakumo thought. The old warmonger had wanted Konoha’s jinchuuriki for a long time and always insisted they be molded into a weapon, but with war sparking even hotter than before, and Sarutobi’s recent bungle, he probably thought he could convince the council to have the person, whoever it was, handed over to his vicious Root program.

 

            But that couldn’t be it. Sakumo was no Nara, but he knew ulterior motives when he saw them. You couldn’t survive as a ninja by taking everything at face value, and he wasn’t naïve enough to think that Danzō would be satisfied with just the jinchuuriki. No, he wanted something else, and older Hatake was willing it had something to do with the Bolting Arrow. Sora’s seal was priceless, and because she was dead with no known relatives, lost to history, but if the seal could be reconfigured it would be an invaluable asset in the future. The catch was that the only two people with the skills in fuuinjutsu to be able to even decipher the seal was Jiraiya of the Sannin and Minato Namikaze, Jiraiya’s student, who both answered to the Hokage directly and wouldn’t hand over such valuable information to the Root head. Which meant Danzō would have to go through proper channels and convince the Hokage.

 

            Which was highly unlikely unless the council pressured the man into it.

 

            The Nara clan head seemed to pick up on Sakumo’s little revelation and nodded minutely, signaling he’d come to the same conclusion. Apparently he wasn’t all that happy about it, either, because Shikaku was now openly scowling at the civilians and Danzō, and Sakumo wondered whether he’d figured something else out, too. He wouldn’t put it past the man.

 

            “Hiruzen,” Danzō tried to say, but the Hokage cut him off.

 

            “I _will not_ tolerate your disrespect, do you understand? You must understand that regarding your previous train of thought, my mind is made up.” Sarutobi took a calming breath before addressing the entire council, ninja and civilian. “This meeting is adjourned. I’ll remind the ninja council that we’re to meet in a week’s time to discuss a declaration of war, if need be. If that is all, I will be leaving. Good day.” With that, the Hokage left, brushing past his old teammate as he went.

 

            The Inuzuka and Hatake would be the only ones with the senses to hear the words exchanged, and Sakumo was the only one paying enough attention.

 

            “If you keep sticking your nose where you don’t belong, consider yourself _unemployed_ ,” Hiruzen Sarutobi hissed under his breath, glaring at the Root leader. Sakumo understood the underlying meaning: _stay out of my way or you’re dead._

 

            Yes, some saw Hiruzen Sarutobi as old and peace-loving, but if you pissed him off, you’d see just how he got the title ‘God of Shinobi’. It wasn’t by letting his enemies live, that’s for sure.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so chapter 8 was pretty long for my usual, so I hoped you enjoyed that. Hopefully they’re all that long from here on out. The political maneuverings will be a staple of the story, but I promise there will be plenty of action. The story just needed to be set up first.
> 
> By the way, the clothing described will be slightly more modern, as I feel some of the ninja attire from the show would be a hindrance in a fight, something ANBU and high Jounin couldn’t afford. Especially the women’s clothing. A skirt? No armor? Bare midriff? That is not okay while fighting for your life and definitely an invitation to enemy ninja to get ideas you’d rather they not. Catch my drift?
> 
> Anyway, Naruto was first released as an anime in 2002, which is fine for the clothing I’m including. It won’t look like American spec ops or anything like that, just, for example, cargo pants, which would be much more helpful than just Jounin pants because of all the pockets. Oh, and boots. Hiking boots. Sandals are cool, but I’d hate to travel to Iwa and get a crap ton of rocks in my sandals.
> 
> Ok, clothing rant over. Enjoy this extra long chapter!

 

_“One man with 100 loyal friends is a lot stronger than one man with 1,000 dead enemies, but only the former knows it, and only the latter cares.” –Gregory Wallace Campbell_

 

“Okay class, take your seats. We’re going over chakra control exercises today and I don’t need the lot of you ending up unconscious, understand?” the Chunin instructor, Tsuru-sensei, said exasperatedly to her class of over-enthusiastic Academy students. Originally, Tsuru Mihara hadn’t planned on teaching a bunch of snot-nosed brats who didn’t know the blunt end of the kunai from the sharp one (she’d like to live, thank you), but eventually the Hokage had effectively persuaded her, claiming she was the least likely to get impatient and snap a brat’s neck.

 

There wasn’t much she could say to that.

 

The teaching in and of itself wasn’t what made Tsuru reluctant, however. No, not something as innocent as a room full of brats could deter a soon-to-be Jounin—she would soon be taking the test after all—and she was plenty qualified for the position. The innocent, wide-eyed children that sat in front of her didn’t give her the slightest pause in the least.

 

Thinking about what they would become, however, did.

 

She wasn’t naïve, not after her extensive experience in the espionage department, and that included the illusion that these _children_ that sat in front of her would not eventually become some of the deadliest killers on the planet. Pupils eventually surpass their masters and with war looming and the Academy age lowered, she knew quite well how easily the class in front of her would either mature much too quickly and become a killer for a living, or die because they weren’t strong enough to do it. She’d seen it happen to enough of her own previous classmates to know.

 

Tsuru shook those quickly darkening thoughts from her mind when she realized that she still had a class to teach. Clearing her throat, she gave the students in the room a pointed look. “We will be performing the tree climbing exercise, so everyone file outside. If any of you idiots decide to act up during the demonstration, _you’re_ going to be the one to demonstrate, capiche? Now hustle! I won’t be waiting all day.”

 

Chuckling to himself, Kakashi watched as the students hauled ass to get outside so as not to incur their sensei’s wrath. While he hadn’t paid much attention in the Academy, he remembered the instructor because of her no-nonsense, I-don’t-care-if-you’re-children-I’ll-kick-your-ass attitude that reminded him so much of the future Anko. Tsuru-sensei didn’t dress as risqué as the snake mistress, but she was about to be promoted to Jounin and would hand anyone’s ass to them if they pissed her off. In fact, he clearly remembered this day because of the colossal argument Obito and he had gotten into when Obito couldn’t get up the tree even three steps.

 

He hadn’t realized it was because Obito had a lot more chakra than he did. If that’d been the case, he probably wouldn’t have said anything.

 

Mentally comparing Tsuru-sensei to what he remembered, it was exactly the same. (Not that he’d expected it not to be.) She had jaw-length, curly chocolate brown hair that bounced whenever she turned her head too quickly and almond-shaped amber eyes that could pin you with a shiver inducing glare or a soft smile, depending on her mood. Even the first time around, Kakashi had respected his Academy instructor.

 

“Kakashi! What did I just say? Move it!” Tsuru-sensei shouted, pulling him out of his reverie and shoving him out the door. Needless to say, he high tailed it out of there.

 

As this was fairly early in the school year by the obvious signs of fall, Kakashi assumed he hadn’t been any more than cold to his classmates, and probably hadn’t insulted any of them yet. It wouldn’t do to already have pissed everyone off and be forced to knock down a few walls before he could be cordial with anybody. Besides, he truly didn’t have the heart to act so shitty to everyone anymore, and couldn’t stand the thought that his future teammates and comrades might be suspicious if he acted nice.

 

 _I can plan all I want, but I have to act to get anywhere._ With that thought, he walked up to Obito and stood next to him while their sensei used chakra to walk up the tree without any hands, which officially stunned most of the students, especially civilian. The cheerful Uchiha eyed him with a hint of suspicion, but Kakashi was happy to note that it was mostly curiosity, and thought their relationship might not already have gone to hell.

 

The problem now wasn’t being nice to Obito, it was trying not to hyperventilate at the sight of the Uchiha, which just brought back the memories of Tobi, of the torture, of Obito crushed underneath the rock, giving his eye as a present for making Jounin. Kakashi could barely sort out his thoughts and his mind was rebelling, constantly feeding him image after image, and it was a miracle that nobody noticed him clenching his fists until his nails drew small rivulets of blood.

 

Tsuru-sensei cleared her throat and announced, “I will be putting you in pairs so that you can attempt this. The object is to channel chakra into your feet to stick to the tree and walk up. Too much and you’ll blow off, too little and you won’t stick, got it? The amount is different for everyone, so there’s no shortcuts or tricks. Alright, the pairings are…”

 

Kakashi zoned out until he heard his name and Obito’s, which elicited a groan from the boy, but decided not to say anything about it just yet. Hopefully, if he was lucky, he might be able to strike up an acquaintance with Obito that might eventually include Rin. Either way, today’s interaction would be crucial to any future team dynamics. Besides, he needed to get over seeing Obito again, and this was the best way to do it.

 

Obito was obviously impatient to get working and, for once, Kakashi was too. This exercise might actually be a worry for him now because just a glance at his chakra reserves found him with almost that of his thirty-year-old self. Since chakra is a mixture of physical and spiritual energies, which is derived from memories and experiences, most of it came back with him. However, it was highly imbalanced due to his lack of physical energy and hard to control because of the sheer amount. It was chaotic and swirling, and suddenly he had an understanding of why a lot of simple techniques were absolutely impossible for Naruto, or Obito, to perform. (Not to mention it explained their insane amounts of stamina and hyperactivity.)

 

“Do you want me to go first?” Obito asked suddenly, catching Kakashi’s attention. He was only slightly biting his bottom lip, but it gave away his nervousness for this exercise. That was quickly hidden, however, with a broad grin that seemed a little painful. “I’m sure I’ll ace this! I’m an Uchiha, and we’re the best out of everyone!”

 

Kakashi nodded and replied with an, “Of course, go ahead.” He decided he wouldn’t be too aloof or bored so as not to come off as arrogant.

 

First, Obito plucked a kunai from his weapons pouch before dead sprinting at the tree, an intense expression dominating his face. He brought his hands up into the ram seal to focus his chakra and stepped onto the tree… only to get blown right off, sending him a good ten feet back and scraping up his arms. His spiky black hair was littered with sticks and leaves and his blue pants had a few newfound holes in them that his mother probably wouldn’t appreciate.

 

Kakashi walked over and offered him a hand which was taken with no small amounts of suspicion and curiosity. “You had too much chakra, but it was good for a first attempt,” Kakashi said, eyeing the area of the tree that now had a sandal mark on it.

 

“Of course it was a good! I’m an Uchiha,” Obito shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “Let’s see you do any better.”

 

 _I’m beginning to doubt whether I will,_ Kakashi thought sardonically, thinking back to the only jutsu he’d done after traveling. The transformation took up a lot more chakra than a regular illusion and consequently took barely any control, which was probably the only reason he could do it without difficulty. Any of his original jutsu like Chidori or Raikiri, or any of the thousand other techniques he’d copied, wouldn’t be available to him until his control was flawless again. Even then, he highly suspected that his younger body wouldn’t be able to handle the chakra manipulation required of Chidori or Rasengan (not that he could use either yet anyway). _Oh well, have to start somewhere…_

 

Instead of running at the tree, he stayed at the base and formed the ram seal, focusing chakra in his feet slowly to test the waters, get a feel for how his body interacted with his chakra. To him, it felt as if it was sluggish and unrelenting, almost like mud flowing through his coils, and was almost wholly unresponsive. He had to pull hard to even get enough in his feet to take a single step, but it seemed once he’d used his chakra, the dam broke.

 

He was blown off the tree just as Obito was, but landed about fifty feet from it and got a good mouthful of grass for his efforts. Spitting and trying to heave himself back up, he noticed everyone giving him various looks of surprise, including Tsuru-sensei. He guessed it was because he was supposed to be a genius, and here he was with abysmal chakra control. When he was really five that would’ve been shocking because he did have perfect control over his small reserves, but he would have to do a lot of training to acclimatize his body to his chakra. (He didn’t think he’d ever have guessed that sentence would come out of his mouth.)

 

“Kakashi?” Tsuru-sensei asked, making her way over to him. She was worried since she’d guessed he’d have already mastered this exercise with his father before, as he had basically everything else. Inwardly, she was slightly relieved to find something the boy needed taught to him because she felt like the other kids were beginning to resent him, which would lead to horrible team dynamics in the future.

 

“Yes, Tsuru-sensei?” said boy asked innocently, all the while cursing himself in his head for not dealing with his chakra control problems earlier and in private. No matter how much he’d grown over his first lifetime and how different he’d turned out in adulthood, not having control of his body was _not_ acceptable and it absolutely _frustrated_ him. It seemed that no matter how much time had passed, he still couldn’t help but feel himself a failure.

 

The teacher approached her student, trying to console him a little and possibly give him some further tips. It seemed his partner for this exercise, Obito Uchiha, didn’t have much luck either and she hoped this would bring Kakashi down a peg while showing Obito that he wasn’t something to idolize and rival with. “Come here,” she said before turning to the rest of her students, wracking her brain for another way to demonstrate the flow of chakra.

 

That’s when it hit her. Calling the entire class to the middle of the training grounds, Tsuru gestured for everyone to sit down before removing her sandals, ignoring the puzzled looks she was receiving. Dropping to the ground gracefully, with all the experience of a practiced ninja, she began to explain what was going on.

 

“I’m going to demonstrate how chakra flows through the body by making mine visible. I will allow you to interact with my chakra so that you understand how to interact with yours. Since the bottom of your feet is the most difficult place to concentrate chakra due to the proximity from your heart, and your need of control there to scale trees, I will demonstrate the same way.” She had everyone’s rapt attention, and it made her smug for a moment, thinking about how rambunctious and rebellious most Academy students were and how inefficient most other teachers were at corralling them.

 

 _It’s a nice day out today,_ Tsuru thought absently as she reflexively channeled chakra to her feet, though this time with enough quantity to visibly show as a blue color, swirling directly over the soles of her feet and shifting in a tightly bound oval. She heard a few gasps and smiled mischievously. “This is how it would look if I climbed the tree and always allowed my chakra to show,” she whispered as if sharing a secret. “All of you can do this, but to help you along I’ve decided you’re going to feel my feet.”

 

The repulsed stares thrown her way made the teacher grin, if a slight bit evilly. One by one, each student felt her flare her chakra, felt it recede, and felt it spike periodically. They each pulled away like they were being burned the first time they touched it, but then gradually got more comfortable before going back to their partners to try climbing the trees once again.

 

It wasn’t until Kakashi Hatake, the genius, the prodigy, the acclaimed son of Sakumo Hatake, came up did Tsuru get thrown off. It was surprising enough that he couldn’t control his chakra well, and it was even more surprising that he’d landed _fifty feet_ from his tree, considering he was only five. To have those kind of chakra reserves was absolutely unheard of, except maybe in the Uchiha, which was interesting in and of itself. Kakashi had always been the epitome of dignified and poised, even hiding his face behind a mask to avoid allowing people to see his emotions. For that matter, the Hatake clan was practically known for its lower reserves but absolutely flawless control that allows them to avoid wasting any of it. Then again, his mother’s clan definitely had _much_ higher reserves than the Hatakes...

 

When Kakashi approached, Tsuru was a little bit wary, considering the boy was also known for being undeniably cold towards everyone save his father, and that he would belittle anyone he didn’t respect. She wasn’t sure what category she fell under with this mysterious five-year-old, but she’d rather not throw insults at a little kid, and she absolutely refused to allow herself to be humiliated by the young boy.

 

She didn’t have to worry, however, since Kakashi wasn’t really paying her all that much attention. He was still puzzling over his chakra and its odd behavior. When he touched the chakra covering her feet, he didn’t show any outward reaction, as he’d long been accustomed to how the flow of chakra through your coils was supposed to feel. He missed the slightly shocked expression on his sensei’s face.

 

Finally, after the demonstration was over, Kakashi and Obito paired off again. Obito ran and ran at the tree, each time getting slightly higher than before, oblivious to most of his surroundings in his concentration. Kakashi, however, was so frustrated that he wanted to punch someone with a chakra-imbued fist, but with his horrid control, that would either break their face or his muscles and tendons would be shot to hell. It was to the point that he didn’t care anymore.

 

 _What is going on? Even with my war-time reserves, I shouldn’t have this much trouble with control._ He decided he’d wait and talk to his father about it. He honestly doubted that his dad would have much of an idea, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

 

The rest of the day went similar, with all of the other kids either mastering or at least improving, all except Kakashi. He didn’t have the faintest idea to what was wrong, but he was determined to figure it out. However, as Kakashi was leaving the Academy, Obito stopped him with an unusually contemplative look on his face.

 

While Obito Uchiha was not known for his brains, he wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, and Kakashi knew that all too well. After teaching Naruto, who, for all his valiant efforts, still couldn’t fool the acclaimed Copy Ninja with his too big grins, Kakashi didn’t have any problem deciphering Obito, who was decently adept at pretending to be an idiot. While the Uchiha was inherently a happy person, he was a master at hiding any negative emotions he had, especially the ones concerning his clan, which treated him like absolute dirt. In his past life, Kakashi hadn’t paid any attention to that save the times he used it against his teammate, making fun of how “useless” he was, and how “worthless”. Just as Obito hadn’t understood why he so inherently had followed the rules, Kakashi hadn’t understood why Obito resented his clan, and what they’d done to shove him to the side because of his lack of Sharingan.

 

Now that Kakashi was aware of his family situation, he realized how much in common they really had, at least after Sakumo had killed himself. While that wouldn’t happen this time around (he was fairly sure), that pain wouldn’t ever leave him completely. It had already become a part of him, a part that had shaped him so wholly over his previous lifetime that it would be impossible to forget it in this one.

 

So, as much as he didn’t want to be able to, he could relate to Obito, and he hoped that he could finally find a friend in the black sheep of the Uchiha clan. Maybe he could even get him and Rin together since he so obviously still had a crush on her.

 

Either way, Obito seemed to be reaching out to him now, if his request for Kakashi to stay back was any indication.

 

“Urm… I was wondering…” Obito trailed off and bit his lip slightly, a habit that consistently betrayed his nervousness. “Do you need any help? With the tree climbing, I mean? I haven’t gotten that good either, and, well…”

 

It shocked Kakashi that Obito would offer something like that, and knew it was probably a bad idea, but decided to agree to it anyway, if only to get to know Obito better. It was an excuse to act more his supposed age and interact with his peers, which he hadn’t done in his first lifetime but was much more crucial now that he’d time-traveled. More importantly, he could keep avoiding Rin…

 

Not that he was scared to see her, or anything. He just… didn’t think she knew him all that well yet… It was definitely _not_ because he couldn’t face her or anything like that…

 

“Actually, I’d appreciate that. When do you want to meet up?” Kakashi said, trying to keep his mind off less pleasant topics. He’d really rather not start hyperventilating for no apparent reason in the middle of the Academy grounds.

 

Obito visibly brightened at his acceptance and shouted, “Great! We can meet up near that new bridge that the civies built a couple months ago at noon tomorrow. Alright?”

 

Kakashi nodded his acceptance and turned to go, knowing his father was busy with that God-awful council meeting, and decided to stop by the library to see what he could dig up about his chakra problem.

* * *

 

“I know you’re aware of why I called you here,” the Third Hokage said gravely, staring one of his best ninja down.

 

Sakumo nodded, a weary frown on his face, and replied, “Correct, Hokage-sama, but I assure you that I’m perfectly fine and capable of going on any mission asked of me.” He decided to leave out the, _without my team,_ but knew the Hokage wouldn’t miss it.

 

Sarutobi sighed, and Sakumo knew that this wasn’t going to go over well, not that he’d expected it to. After the fiasco that was his recent mission, he knew that the Hokage wouldn’t allow him to skip the counselling most ANBU got after they returned from a traumatising mission, especially ones the resulted in the death of a teammate. In all honestly, he wasn’t exactly opposed to talking with someone about it, but he couldn’t bear to spill his secrets to a civilian counselor that had no knowledge or experience of ninja life, and couldn’t be all that helpful anyway. Spilling his innermost thoughts to someone who couldn’t possibly understand them seemed pointless in the long run.

 

While he was grateful for Sarutobi’s concern, he wasn’t going to ask the man to talk to the Yamanakas. It was true that they’d done counselling for ninja in the past, but the Yamanaka clan was needed more and more frequently in the Torture and Interrogation department and on high ranking infiltration missions. There weren’t enough of the ones skilled in base-line psychology, not their clan jutsu, to spare their skills on a ridiculous, unnecessary evaluation of a top notch ninja.

 

“If you won’t submit willingly, I’ll have to ban you from missions until you do. If you’d feel more comfortable, I can probably arrange a Yamanaka to do the eval for you if you’re that adamant on the civies. Otherwise, this is not a request, am I clear?” Sarutobi said, his tone firm and demanding, his ‘Hokage voice’.

 

Sakumo swallowed the bad taste in his mouth and just nodded briskly. “Crystal, sir.” The Hokage dismissed him, making sure to remind him to talk to Inochi or Inoichi by the end of the week. As he opened the office door to leave, however, Sarutobi tacked on a parting statement.

 

“You know, Sakumo, I heard someone was recently terrorizing the bathhouses again, and I’d like you to check it out.”

 

He chuckled at that, knowing there was only one man that the Third could be referring to, and just why he’d be terrorizing the bathhouses. He was glad that Jiraiya was in the village again, especially after what had just happened, and was happy that Sarutobi had informed him. Shutting the Hokage’s office doors behind him, Sakumo left the Tower in search of Jiraiya, Konoha’s resident pervert.

 

When he found his friend, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. Jiraiya was a twitching ball on the ground with four angry women standing over him glaring with their fists cocked back for another round. He was whimpering incoherently, all the while still trying to get another glimpse at their… assets… as if he weren’t about to be pounded into next week.

 

“I know he deserves it ladies, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill him before I have a chance to talk to him,” Sakumo said smoothly, hoping to drag Jiraiya away by the feet before the rest of the women in the bathhouse realize the free-for-all going on and decide to join in.

 

They glanced between him and Jiraiya as if they weren’t sure whether they should allow it, but finally backed away after vowing to send the Toad Sage to the ICU if he ever showed up again. (Everyone knew he would.)

 

“Thanks for the save back there,” Jiraiya said as they started the walk to the Hatake compound. “I just couldn’t resist doing some research for my newest book series, _Icha Icha_ , especially in Konoha. You know they have the most—”

 

He was cut off by Sakumo’s sharp elbow into his kidney. To Jiraiya’s credit, he didn’t make a sound.

 

Approaching the Hatake compound, Sakumo couldn’t help but think about all that had gone on under that roof. This had been his house for his entire life and yet he wasn’t all that sure he could call the place home. His parents weren’t the inviting type, and the precious little others still alive in the clan avoided him at all costs, believing…

 

Let’s just say he wasn’t well-liked. Just when he thought he’d finally have someone to call the compound home with, just when he thought he’d finally have a family, she had died, leaving him and Kakashi alone—

 

“Hey, Sakumo, we’re here.” Jiraiya interrupted his worsening thoughts, so he just nodded and pulled out a house key, biting his left thumb and smearing blood over the lock first. As the deadbolt turned and the front door swung inward, he went straight to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of sake out of the liquor cabinet. He had a few bottles of emergency 70-proof vodka in the back, but he wasn’t quite there… yet.

 

Jiraiya just raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t say anything, just accepted the offered glass, downing it in one swig. After it was refilled, they both sat down on a rickety barstool, the sake in between them, and a heavy silence filling the room. Jiraiya knew when and when not to joke, and knew to give his friend space, allowing him time to gather his pride and throw it out the window for a few minutes.

 

Sakumo knew Jiraiya wasn’t stupid, and they’d been friends long enough for the man to realize when something was wrong. After his wife died, the Sannin hadn’t said anything for a long time, letting him get his bearings together and gather the courage to ask for help. At this point, he knew he was in desperate need to tell someone what had happened on that mission, but he wasn’t sure whether he could admit why he hated himself so much. Why he hated himself for doing what almost any other ninja would’ve done: finish the mission. Finally, he just blurted it out.

 

“I killed them. They’re dead and I killed them.” There. He said it. He _finally_ admitted it. And, as if the admittance opened the damn keeping his emotions at bay, he just couldn’t stop the word vomit that followed.

 

“I keep telling myself that I did everything I could do, that I _had_ to finish the mission, that their lives were forfeited for a good cause, but I’m just deluding myself, aren’t I? Who am I to gauge the value of another’s life, especially my comrades’? I’m not God, I’m not even the Hokage, and it shouldn’t be my decision to save the lives of my closest friends or the lives of possibly thousands of others later! Not only that, but the entire mission was a bunch of bullshit that could cause the war to speed up, which wouldn’t be in Konoha’s favor, leaving behind a wake of even more dead bodies than previously. This bogus assassination looks like it will push the other nations over the edge, especially Iwa, and that leaves even _more_ ninjas dead because I decided that the mission was worth more than a comrade’s life.

 

“That’s not even it, either. I debated! I debated whether or not to abort the mission, I really did. I was on the brink of calling the goddamned thing off and telling Sora and Korharu to turn around and haul-ass back home. I would’ve taken the brunt of the punishment, but I would’ve saved their lives, which was worth it to me.

 

“And yet. And yet I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon the mission because of… because of…”

He couldn’t get it out. He couldn’t admit to himself why he’d given up Sora and Korharu’s lives. It was so selfish it was sickening. They had family, too. They had people mourning them, people that would care, and yet all he could think about was himself. He sat there, heaving, as if he could suck the words back into his mouth, as if saying that had left an empty hole in his chest that ached horribly, pushing on his carefully crafted mental barriers.

 

Jiraiya didn’t comment or offer and condolences to his friend, knowing that that was the last thing the man would want. Sakumo was blaming himself for his friends’ deaths, but in reality it wasn’t anyone’s fault, and if anyone it definitely wasn’t _his_ fault. Jiraiya wanted to tell him that, pound it into his head, but decided letting Sakumo let everything out was his first priority. “Because of what?” he asked quietly.

 

Putting his head in his hands, Sakumo replayed that mission over and over and over, criticizing every decision and every move, wondering if he could’ve done anything differently to complete the mission _and_ keep his teammates alive. And yet his thoughts kept coming back to one central point: Kakashi.

 

His fucked up, war veteran, _time-traveling_ son was the whole reason, was his selfish reason, for finishing that goddamned mission. Before he’d known anything about time-traveling or the crazy conversations and circumstances that had followed, he knew that he’d woken up Kakashi, intent on informing the boy of his mission, and was stunned at what had proceeded.

 

First, the boy had instinctively perceived any disturbance in sleep as a threat and tried to attack him. That alone would’ve sent off warning bells because as soon as Kakashi’s eyes had focused, he’d had an expression of equal parts shock and grief on his face, like he’d seen a ghost. (Now that Sakumo knew, he guessed Kakashi _had_ seen a ghost.) Usually so composed, Kakashi had started crying, _crying_ , and clinging to Sakumo like a civilian toddler would. As if he’d blow away in the wind should the boy let go. When he’d announced his mission, Kakashi was again shocked, for some odd reason. The pain and grief in his eyes were still present until finally the boy had wiped any and all emotion off of his face, reminding the White Fang eerily of ANBU during their time off.

 

Kakashi had seemed so fragile, so childlike, that when Sakumo encountered the enemy Iwa ninjas, he’d made his decision. The decision to finish. This. Mission.

 

Sakumo wasn’t naïve enough to believe that if the mission had gone uncompleted, that he wouldn’t be despised by the rest of Konoha’s ninja community, and probably demoted or worse by the Hokage. The man his team was sent to assassinate could possibly have shortened the war, and at the very least provided Konoha with invaluable intelligence regarding Iwa outposts, current supplies, possible offensive and defensive strategies, and even some supposed weapons the Hidden Village was developing. That being said, when he’d thought about aborting, all he could see was the disappointed gaze of his only family, his _son_ , that he decided dying in defense of his village would be better in the long run for everyone. If he survived, then that was great, but if he died, it would be respected and so would Kakashi.

 

If he’d had to die to give Kakashi the life he deserved, Sakumo had thought so be it. Now he realized how foolish that was.

 

Kakashi didn’t care what he did or didn’t do. His son loved him for who he was, and whether or not that was the result of the time-travel didn’t really matter, as that just reinforced what kind of person his son would become.

 

“Because of Kakashi.” Those three words were so loaded with implications, emotions, and blame, that Jiraiya wisely didn’t comment on it, thinking he knew where that particular line of thinking probably went.

 

“Well then,” Jiraiya said in complete seriousness, a rarity for the man. “Let’s get utterly wasted and maybe you won’t remember. You did keep that bottle of vodka I bought at the edge of Iwa almost five years ago, yeah?”

 

Sakumo cracked a small smile. “Sure as hell did. It’s almost as potent as that moonshine you bought Sora and Minato when they completed their first complex storage seal. I only had a small sip and even with my high alcohol tolerance, I still just about gagged as it went down.”

 

Jiraiya snickered. “Yeah, well it’s not everyday you find someone willing to distill wheat until it’s 90-proof and I just couldn’t pass it up. I swear though that you could probably use it for medical purposes because it’s almost pure alcohol. Just don’t mistake it for water unless you want to choke.” They both laughed at that, remembering Minato and his unfortunate swig of the foul stuff.

 

 _It feels great to laugh,_ Sakumo thought as he retrieved the vodka from his liquor cabinet and two shot glasses. Just to be safe, he also brought out another couple bottles of sake, knowing the vodka wouldn’t last long. Him and Jiraiya drank through absolutely all of the Hatake’s alcohol before the night was over, and both passed out into the land of oblivion content and happy for once in a long while, knowing they’d be nursing killer headaches in the morning.

 

If only sleep were as peaceful for Sakumo as it was for almost everyone else.

* * *

 

_“The details are oddly absent,” Sora joked sardonically, trying to lighten the mood and relieve her teammates minds, much to Korharu’s annoyance, who openly scoffed at her obvious statement._

 

_Sakumo chuckled at his team’s dynamics, remembering when he first decided on taking a Genin team and what kind of ninja they had become since then.  He’d envied Jiraiya at first, since he’d gotten Minato Namikaze, but soon enough had grown close with his students. Korharu and Sora were absolutely brilliant and both of them went on to study under other ninja to improve in their realm of expertise. Sora had become acquainted with Minato and taken an interest in sealing, so she’d trained with Jiraiya for a solid year when she was a Chunin. From then on, she and Minato were good friends and some of Jiraiya’s best students, as his other original Genin went on to other things. Korharu was usually hanging out with other Jounins his age or training with Konoha’s top genjutsu specialists._

 

_Even though his students had all gone on to other teachers, they stayed great friends with their first sensei, and Sakumo was grateful for that since now him, Sora, and Korharu had become one of Konoha’s best Jounin teams. They would’ve also been joined by the fourth member of the original Team Sakumo, but Akio Hanari had joined ANBU two years prior on the Hokage’s personal recommendation. No one saw much of him anymore, much to the team’s dismay._

 

_“Of course the details are absent,” Korharu said, drawing Sakumo’s attention. “The Third said we were on a need-to-know basis only, which means we won’t be given much information.”_

 

 _Sora huffed. “Sure, but this report has almost_ nothing. _How are we supposed to kill someone we don’t know anything about?” She obviously wasn’t very pleased that her target didn’t have a profile, which was typically what she used to efficiently carry out assassinations._

 

_In an attempt to bring his team back to the problem at hand, Sakumo cleared his throat, effectively shutting the young Jounins up. “Our target is Kiyoshi Ijiri, an Iwa civilian that is in close counterparts with the Tsuchikage and Iwa’s military efforts. His company, Ijiri Pharmaceuticals and Medical Supplies, is Iwa’s main supplier of medical equipment and is rumored to house all of Iwa’s up-and-coming medic nin in an attempt to hide their numbers and methods,” he rambled off in a monotone, knowing at least Korharu hadn’t finished the report yet._

 

_Sora apparently didn’t agree with something because she stiffened and narrowed her eyes at the mission briefing. “Something else isn’t right about Ijiri Pharmaceuticals. If they’re hiding medic nin, could they be hiding the weapon that the Hokage heard rumors of?” She twisted a piece of her short, choppy black hair around her finger, not comfortable with all of the unknowns  of their mission._

 

_He nodded in the affirmative. He’d already pieced together that the Hokage must’ve figured the rumors were either inaccurate or the weapon wasn’t threatening enough for it to matter to their objective, which was Kiyoshi himself. Sakumo would bet that the Hokage didn’t believe the weapon was even in Kiyoshi’s compound, probably believing that Iwa wouldn’t be so careless as to hinge so much on one civilian, no matter how loyal. Unfortunately, as Team Sakumo well knew, assuming makes an ass out of you and me, and in his profession he wasn’t keen on assuming anything._

 

_So what, exactly, was the Hokage’s motivations for this mission? Besides acquiring inside information, which was obvious. As mentioned before, Sakumo could recognize ulterior motives when he saw them and wasn’t deluding himself into believing his own village leader wouldn’t have any. It was the world they lived in._

 

_“We’re obviously not going to get any answers and we have to leave by 5 a.m., so we’d better get packed for a day or two long mission, according to the briefing,” Korharu pointed out, already closing the file and handing it to Sakumo. “This is a time-sensitive operation, and we can’t be late or we’ll miss our window of opportunity.”_

 

_All three of them left in different directions, as Sora lived on her own since her father’s death two years ago, and Korharu lived in the more family oriented section of Konoha with his parents and two younger siblings. His older sister died in a border skirmish four months ago, and he’d made it a point to inform his parents of any missions or assignments he’d be going out on, if only just to put their mind at ease. Sakumo didn’t typically inform anyone of his missions save for Kakashi, which was where he was headed now._

 

_His son was turning out to be a genius, and Kakashi was reminding him of his wife more and more every day. While the boy looked like him, especially the coloring, he had his mother’s leaner build and slender jaw line. His personality was unfortunately almost entirely Sakumo’s, except for his undeniable  genius and want to hide his face. Though Kakashi didn’t know it, his mother also wore a mask and didn’t want anyone to see her face, although probably for an entirely different reason than Kakashi._

 

_After his bizarre encounter with Kakashi at the break of dawn, Sakumo used the roofs to make it to Konoha’s west gate ten minutes before he was supposed to be there. Sora and Korharu were already present and busy cataloguing their supplies, which mostly consisted of weapons, weapons, and more weapons. Because of the time frame of the mission, nothing long-term was required, which just gave them all an excuse to pack as many weapons as humanly possible. (That was an ungodly amount in Sora’s case, as she was on her way to becoming a seal mistress.)_

 

 _“Is this it, then?” Korharu asked, strapping his hip pouch back on his right side and his kunai pouch on his left. His spiky brown hair was held back by his black forehead protector and he was wearing a pair of grey cargo pants, heavy black hiking boots laced with grey and red 550 cord, and a grey long-sleeved cotton shirt underneath the standard-issue Jounin vest. To top it all off, he was wearing grey fingerless gloves with metal plates sewn to the back engraved with_ ‘ 攻撃 ’, attack, _on his right and_ ‘ 防衛’, defense, _on his left._

 

_Sora snorted and proceeded to check all of her storage scrolls. Her choppy black hair that she kept cut with a kunai was held back by a handful of bobby pins. She didn’t need the pins, but kept them as they were a discreet way to hide lock-picking tools. Her Konoha symbol was, instead of on a forehead protector, sewn to the inside of the left forearm of her dark grey cotton shirt so it was easily hidden if the need arose. Overtop her grey shirt was the standard issue Jounin vest and underneath was a layer of mesh and bandages along her chest. Deep red 550 cord was woven into a thick waist sash that acted as a modified outer mesh armor that could take a kunai or shuriken.  Her form fitting black leggings had tight pockets and were tucked into bandages that finally went into black combat boots. Deep red gloves with metal plates completed the outfit._

 

_“Okay, if that’s everyone— “ Sakumo began to say, but was cut off abruptly by a puff of smoke._

 

_“Anyone miss me?” a voice said in an amused tone as the smoke cleared. Everyone instantly recognized it._

 

_“Akio?” Korharu asked pensively. He seemed to be studying his former teammate, and Sakumo wondered what his former student was there for, as he was ANBU, which had been expressly forbidden on this mission._

 

_Sora, however, didn’t give it a second of thought and ran at Akio full speed, giving him a good sucker punch to gut before wrangling her arm around his neck. “I swear to God, if you’re here for any reason other than joining this mission, I will punt you to Iwa and back, understand?”_

 

_Akio laughed at her antics, but it sounded off, as if he wasn’t used to the action or the feeling of being happy. Sakumo guessed that was probably the ANBU at work, and decided he probably didn’t want to know what his former student had been up to lately._

 

_“I actually am here to assist you guys with the mission since Hokage-sama was going to reinstate me as a Jounin within the month anyway. So now that I’m no longer ANBU, I asked to tag along. Think you can spare the company?” Akio joked. Sora snorted and Korharu chuckled a little, but the White Fang was a little uneasy._

 

_It was highly uncommon for an ANBU to return to Jounin, as usually they didn’t live long enough to request such an action, but for Akio to drop out so soon was uncalled for. According to what the Third had said in passing to him, the newest recruit was already one of the most promising operatives in two generations, being able to complete S-rank solo missions without dying, which was a feat in and of itself._

 

_Nonetheless, the Hokage sent him, and Sakumo would have to push his suspicions aside for the time being to lead his squad. “Alright! If you all are done socializing, then get your asses moving. We’ve got to be in Iwa in five hours flat, clear?”_

 

_“Crystal!” the young Jounin echoed in unison, snapping off a salute._

 

This is going to be a long couple of days, _Sakumo thought wearily, already hunkering in for streams of shallowly grazing insults between Sora and Korharu and the amused laughter from Akio. He felt like he was just receiving the brats from the Academy again._

 

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m sorry for the long wait, but the chapter was longer, about seven thousand words. If this italics section confused anyone, it’s Sakumo’s mission that he’s reliving in his dream (or nightmare, either way), and it was really too long for just this chapter.
> 
> I would’ve written the whole thing, but I really wanted to update and it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and I really need some sleep. 
> 
> Until next time.


	10. Ten

_“It’s easy to forget what sin is in the middle of a battlefield.” — Solid Snake, Metal Gear_

 

Ten

 

_“So,” Sakumo said casually as he ran beside Akio on the way to Iwa. They were heading to a rendezvous point located halfway to Taki that used to function as an underground ANBU operations base during the Second War. It was abandoned now and largely ignored, most forgetting it ever existed. It was the perfect location to use Sora’s seal._

 

_The Bolting Arrow, after being tested and retested by both Sora and Jiraiya, was brought straight to the Hokage for classification (fuuinjutsu), rank (S-rank), and any further instructions on its use. To avoid other villages getting wind of Konoha’s new seal or up-and-coming seal mistress, especially those of the Five Great Shinobi Nations, the Third instructed Sora not to use the Bolting Arrow straight out of Konoha in case of spies. Since the abandoned ANBU base was largely forgotten and decently out of the way, it was the perfect spot to slip by unnoticed._

 

_It was a five hour run, which meant Sora, even within limitations, could transport a whole team easily to anywhere in the world within five hours. It was even better that she was so good at infiltration, as she’d planted her seals within every Kage’s personal office, including Iwa, two in each nation in the world, and one in the underground crypts of Uzushio. That particular location had been more for convenience so as to reach the island quicker by bypassing the whirlpools surrounding it._

 

_Once they reached the rendezvous point, Sora would pin their clothing with an arrow and activate the seal, hopping them to the second seal inside Iwa._

 

_Akio inclined his head in Sakumo’s direction with a resigned look on his face that Sakumo thought looked a little forced. Obviously Akio didn’t want to talk to him, but knew there wasn’t getting out of his inquiries, especially as Sakumo wasn’t known to be a patient man, and highly suspicious of most everything._

 

_“Why did you really come along with us? Any ninja worth their salt knows you never truly leave ANBU and most die in the Corps anyway. So what strings did you pull to get on this mission?” Sakumo asked rather bluntly. He was a pretty straight shooting kind of guy and didn’t appreciate when people tried to dance around a subject, speaking in riddles and uncertainties, only giving as much as ‘maybes’ and ‘perhaps’._

 

_Akio didn’t answer at first, seeming to think over his answer carefully, probably because he knew Sakumo Hatake as well as anyone could know the man and was weighing the possibility of him getting away with lying straight to the White Fang’s face. The expression of resignation flickered over his features again, and Sakumo was fairly sure he would get the truth, or at least a vague version of it._

 

_“I…” the ex-ANBU started, but trailed off in favor of averting his gaze. After a short pause, he found his voice again. “I couldn’t handle it.”_

 

_At first, Sakumo wanted to press for further information, especially since the emotions that briefly flittered across the young man’s face were intense and dark, but he caught something, something of a warning in the set of Akio’s jaw, the grit of his teeth, or maybe the tensing of his shoulders and biceps, as if he completely expected someone to jump out of the trees and kill him for saying anything._

 

_Vowing to figure out what was wrong when they weren’t trying to complete a SS-rank mission, Sakumo just shrugged it off and filed the slight relieved expression from his old student in the back of his mind._

 

_Akio Hanari was somewhat of an anomaly. As soon as the boy had been assigned to Sakumo’s Genin team he’d shown his adept weapons skills, lithe and graceful taijutsu, powerful ninjutsu, and the uncanny ability to manipulate just about anyone around him. Typically a sarcastic, joking kind of guy, Akio used his outward nonchalance and cynicism to steer people away from what he hid. Sakumo had seen the evidence of this “mask”, for lack of a better term, on multiple occasions, but Akio had been able to trick even elite Jounins because he was so masterful at lying and deceiving._

 

_It was one of the prime reasons he was recommended for ANBU. His infiltration skills were rumoured to be unparalleled and his ability to be anything requested of him had the young man swimming in specific mission requests from clients, usually that said something along the lines of: ‘Send the one that kills as a civilian.’_

 

_Yep. That was what Akio was really known for— killing his victims without armor or gear, but as a civilian. It also made him five times more effective. He’d snap your neck long before you realized that Chinese take-out guys don’t typically use chopsticks in that manner._

 

_“Hey!” Sora shouted from point position, yanking Sakumo from his thoughts. “We’re just about there!”_

 

_The base really wasn’t much. It consisted of a single nondescript entrance that looked like the old, rusty doors to someone’s abandoned root cellar, but really was six-inch-thick reinforced steel that had such a myriad of seals placed on it that one wrong move would blow the whole thing sky-high or cave it in, depending on what mood the inhabitants were in when they detected your presence. Of course, that was if you even survived the traps placed all around it, which the builders were hoping for apparently because almost all the security measures were created with the intent to maim, not kill._

 

_Team Sakumo had been here before when using the Bolting Arrow for a mission and thus knew the layout like the back of their hands. Once they weaved through all of the security measures (which couldn’t be disabled as the seals were too volatile) the entrance doors opened into a surprisingly wide staircase that went at least ten feet underground. Opening up into a wide front room, the stairs then leveled out and ran into a hallway that lead to a wide, cavernous main training area. Off to the right of the cavern was a narrow passageway leading to the sleeping areas, showers, and storage rooms while off to the left was another set of stairs leading down to the numerous conference rooms. Underneath that level was strictly for T &I only and used to hold dangerous POWs if there wasn’t any time for them to be transported back to Konoha. _

 

_Now it was an empty husk that was highly unnerving and decidedly creepy. To Sakumo, the air had that damp, musty smell one associated with mold and dirt, while also containing a slight metallic tinge coupled with the sharp sting of bleach, attesting to the amount of blood both spilled and cleaned up. He knew quite well how important this base was during the Second War, as he’d visited it more than a few times as a newly appointed Chuunin, and still it hadn’t lost its unappealing air that surrounded it, even after all that time and being cleaned out to boot._

 

_Korharu sighed and added some of his blood to the seal keeping the cellar doors shut. “I won’t be long, but I there is something that’s crucial to the genjutsu we’re going to be wearing when entering Iwa, so just stay put.” With that, he disappeared underground._

 

_A tense silence followed, but no one really had anything to say. While it was great that the team’s fourth member was back, no one really knew him all that well. Sakumo was just trying to reconcile with the fact that Akio hadn’t changed all that much, even after two years in ANBU. He was still a manipulative bastard that couldn’t be counted on to tell you the truth if his life depended on it. (Which it had on many occasions.) His deadly skills were honed and more instinctual, but that was to be expected, as the increase in chakra that was only sensible because Akio had no reason to conceal it._

 

_Sakumo wasn’t sure whether or not he was happy that Akio left ANBU. Sure, the brat could get killed, which wouldn’t be good, but Konoha really did need the manpower, and he never was one to turn down an advantage. He wouldn’t ever leave a comrade behind or send someone out on a suicide mission unless it was absolutely unavoidable, but a ninja had to make the conscious choice to join ANBU, as they could refuse the offer without penalty, but once one becomes ANBU, they don’t ever quite leave. Sakumo personally hadn’t ever met anyone that had lived long enough to consider retirement from ANBU._

 

_It also never helped that the spec ops corps didn’t operate the same as regular squads did. Teamwork, for all Konoha was famous for it, didn’t really apply to ANBU even though it should’ve been first and foremost. Sakumo never had seen the reasoning behind that one, except maybe to spare the emotional trauma of constantly having your comrades die in front of you. To him, the philosophy seemed more concerned with mission success rates than survivability. Either way, Akio’s story didn’t sit well with him, as he’d met others in ANBU and almost none of them were that normal. He hated to put it that way, but it was true._

 

_Just as the silence stretched on and he was about ready to make dreaded small talk to end the uncomfortable quiet, there was a loud banging sound that resonated from the base. He exchanged a speculative glance with Sora, but didn’t comment as Korharu was known to have unconventional means of using genjutsu._

 

_Korharu was known to have recreated some of the genjutsu of the Sharingan just by studying how it affects the victim. Sakumo wasn’t sure how exactly that worked, but since he was about to be using one of those genjutsus to complete his suicidal mission, it probably wasn’t something to question._

 

_Suddenly, three consecutive bangs sounded before Korharu came out of the cellar doors with smudges of grease on his face._

 

_“What?” he asked, holding his hands up placatingly. “I had to do some digging. It’s not like regular people, or even ninja for that matter, keep WD-40, duct tape, chain locks, lighters, and old newspapers lying everywhere. However, the booze was quite easy to find.” He gave a wink at that._

 

_“Um… what do we need all that for?” Sora asked slowly, scanning over the pile of seemingly miscellaneous items that Korharu had acquired. Sakumo was thinking the same thing._

 

_At this, Akio cleared his throat and stepped forward. His dirty blonde hair, more bordering on brown, was tucked behind his ear to keep it out of his face as he gestured at Korharu. “While it won’t be hard to get into Iwa with the Bolting Arrow, we still have to infiltrate Ijiri Pharmaceuticals, which is heavily guarded by the military. Every weapon has to be sealed away when we go in and your chakra has to be nonexistent. The only way to do that is to pull this off as civilians, even the assassination. Luckily, I do have experience._

 

_“WD-40 and a lighter can be used as an improvised flamethrower that burns plenty hot enough to scald any unsuspecting ninja. The newspaper can quickly be fashioned into a Millwall Brick and be used as a nightstick. Molotov cocktails are easy and deadly explosives that wouldn’t be expected. A chain lock can be a deadly club or suffocation device, breaking bones and cutting off windpipes effectively. Duct tape is great for subduing and restraining if used correctly.”_

 

_Sakumo frowned. This mission was a simple enough assassination and intelligence gathering, at least on paper. While it would be difficult to find their way into Ijiri Pharmaceuticals, they were all trained Jounin or ANBU level ninja and knew how to conceal themselves plenty well enough to evade detection. While Akio was skilled in killing as a civilian, effectively cutting off any reasonable suspicion of another country, as that was a ninja’s job, he and the rest of the team weren’t trained for that nor were they ready to be convincing civies. They’d stick out like a sore thumb, chakra or not._

 

_Probably thinking along the same lines, Sora shot Akio an incredulous look and yelled, “Are you insane? None of us are trained in that way! How do you suppose we infiltrate, even as civies?”_

 

_Korharu cleared his throat. “That’s where I come in. While two of us will conduct the assassination and intelligence gathering, the other two are going to start a riot in the main plaza, not too far from Ijiri. I will keep a strict genjutsu on myself and the other one of us that will help start the riot so that no one would ever recognize us as ninja. While I could disguise our weapons in that scenario, to look like real rioters we’d have to use the same kind of crude and improvised weapons as regular gang members. The other two will pose as janitors, as they have access to the entire compound, and make their way to Ijiri to take him out. You will have a long-range genjutsu that I will keep up, but if you use any chakra, even the amount to open a seal, the illusion will shatter.”_

 

_This was a bad idea and Sakumo knew it. One of those deep, gut reactions that just screamed something wasn’t right. While difficult, nothing in the briefing suggested this mission would have to be carried out as civies, just that it didn’t come back to Konoha. The idea of starting a riot in the middle of Iwa was literally_ asking _for a lot of unwanted—suicidal—trouble. Knowing in a way that only veterans could know, Sakumo didn’t want to test fate any more than they already were by rioting in the streets of their most vicious enemy’s home turf. It was an utter death sentence for all of them._

 

_And yet._

 

_Assassinating Ijiri was their top priority with intelligence gathering weighing in at a close second, and Sakumo and his team were easily skilled enough to hide their chakra effectively enough to bypass security. Unless there was a master sensor, everyone in their party would be able to sneak through without much pause. Even though there was a decent amount of ninja stalking the place, it was mostly Chuunin with only the occasional Jounin. Obviously there wasn’t anything too horribly important or Iwa would’ve put a lot more effort into guarding the place, which just further cemented the idea that the entire mission was utter bullshit._

 

_And yet._

 

_Wasn’t killing one of their top civilian liaisons going to piss them off enough? Was it really necessary to trash their city, rile up their civilians, decimate their reputation, cripple one of their main financial supporters, and leave not a trace of who did it to boot?  They weren’t even technically at war since the border skirmishes were typically nothing more than just that—skirmishes. As the captain of his squad, Sakumo could order them all to retreat, to turn tail and go home before they were all killed in a ridiculous attempt to render Iwa incapable of funding a suitable army for the next fifty years. That would be better than all of them dying, wouldn’t it?_

 

_And yet._

 

_He didn’t want to, but Kakashi came to mind right away. Every since his wife died five years ago, Sakumo had been stumbling over himself in a vain attempt to raise their child correctly— except all that had done was alienate the boy further. He had no notions of a father/son bond between them and was one hundred percent certain Kakashi hadn’t either. That is, until Sakumo had that bizarre morning wake up routine only a few hours previous._

 

_After all the crazy shit that’d happened in his life, you’d think he would’ve gotten used to it, but, alas, he was a straightforward kind of guy, and he_ never _would’ve guessed that his son was so attached to him. Hell, Kakashi had pushed him away since the tender age of_ four. Four. _So the crying and clinging hadn’t just shocked him, it had blown him out of the water. Because, praise the Lord, his son truly wanted him around, truly thought of him as a_ father. _Maybe not a good one, granted, but a father nonetheless._

 

_What kind of example would he be setting by breaking basically the first rule of all ninja? That didn’t sit well with him. So, horrible gut feeling or not, he would finish this mission no matter what. Even if he died._

 

_“Alright!” Sakumo barked, causing everyone around him to stiffen instinctually. “We are carrying out this mission. I want Korharu and Sora to start the riot since you two are the greenest out of all of us. Akio and I will infiltrate the compound and take out Ijiri. Korharu will decide the best location for the riot while Akio and I will plan out the best way into the company compound. Intelligence was kind enough to provide us with a sketched map of the premise, and the briefing rooms in the basement of the old ANBU headquarters have maps of Iwa, if slightly out-of-date. They’ll have to suffice. We’ll plan to leave here in an hour flat, clear?”_

 

_“Crystal!” came the answer and a snapped off salute._

 

_Exactly an hour later they stood in front of the entrance to the ANBU headquarters with determined looks on their faces. Sakumo and Akio had hashed out their plan and Korharu and Sora found the ideal place to start an effective riot. Still shoving away the deep-seated feeling of wrongness, Sakumo nodded to Sora who removed three arrows from her quiver._

_“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, and pinned all of their clothing with the arrows, her frightening accuracy something the team was used to by now. Placing her right hand in a one-handed rat seal, she mumbled “fuuinjutsu” and the world swirled into a cacophony of colors, each one indistinguishable from the next._

_However, just as quickly as it began it stopped. Korharu stumbled slightly and Akio wavered on his feet, but Sora and Sakumo were used to the effects of the seal and were immediately in a ready stance just in case someone had been alerted to their presence. Taking stock of the rock face they were standing on and the lack of attacks or warning shouts, they were temporarily safe._

 

_“Where is this seal located?” Sakumo asked Sora. She knew the maps of the Elemental Countries like the back of her hand, so whatever seal she’d decided to teleport to must be within a few minutes of Iwa._

 

_“West of the city.” With that, Sakumo gestured for the squad to take position Delta-Foxtrot. He took point, Sora was fifty yards to the south since she was the best at sensing chakra, Korharu was fifty yards to his southeast, and Akio was fifty yards to his southwest. They ran at a steady, chakra-enhanced speed hovering around forty miles per hour._

 

_It didn’t take long for the Village Hidden in the Stone to come into view, and all four of them were taken aback, Korharu going as far as a sharp intake of breath._

 

_The village was, honest-to-God, a complete_ dump. _It looked like the whole thing was part of Konoha’s Red Light district. The streets were narrow and cracked from years of wear, the buildings sagged as if their foundations were crumbling away at the seams, the shops and stalls were half boarded up or had broken windows, and the rock faces surrounding the entire village gave it an air of suppression and desolation. The streets were littered with trash and deserted, the few people out and about were hunched over and scurrying along like mice at the sight of a hawk, and waterlogged propaganda posters were peeling off of almost every available wall space. The only vaguely nice thing in the entire village was the Tsuchikage’s tower, which was brand new and gleaming with white-washed stone and ornate decorations._

 

_It was easy, however to locate Ijiri Pharmaceuticals. Other than the Tsuchikage’s tower, the company’s compound was the second largest building in the village. It only stood two stories high, but anyone could guess at the probable number of underground floors. The height wasn’t what made it so large. The Ijiri compound sprawled at least three square miles and was fenced off with an electrical fence that would fry anyone who touched it._

 

_Sakumo, because of his especially attuned lightning chakra and ability to read it, could tell they’d really cooked up a bad concoction with their fence. While the fence had a low voltage (he guessed about 75 volts), the amperage was at a lethal 150 milliamperes. The amperes were lethal in and of themselves because they weren’t high enough to clamp the heart during cardiac arrest and allow for resuscitation, and the low voltage also wouldn’t cause the heart to clamp during the shock, so anyone who touched the fence was almost assuredly dead. No medical treatment, even if immediate, would likely revive the victim._

 

_That created a problem for Sakumo’s team. Or,_ most _of his team. He himself wouldn’t be bothered by the electricity as long as he coated whatever body part touching the fence with lightning chakra. It would flow through his chakra like a current and he wouldn’t be affected by the electricity. His other team members, however, were going to have a problem._

 

_Sora had a staunch water affinity, which would do her more harm than good. Korharu had an earth affinity, which might soften the blow of the shock if he could control it correctly, but he was more into genjutsu than elemental ninjutsu. And Akio had a fire affinity akin to his completely uncalled for temper when his buttons were pushed that would just alert the guards should he melt the fence or something equally as flashy._

 

_So that left Sakumo to come up with a way to get himself and Akio over the fence without being electrocuted six ways to Sunday._

 

_Coat Akio in lightning chakra? Nope, that would just kill him._ Wait…

 

_“Korharu, do you know any significant Earth jutsus?” Sakumo asked._

 

_The genjutsu specialist seemed to falter at the sudden question, but quickly regained his bearing and replied, “I can tunnel and use the jutsu that creates an earth dragon. Why?”_

 

Tunneling. Perfect, _Sakumo thought as he inspected his makeshift weapons and all the sealed ones. They’d be able to take out Kiyoshi Ijiri in no time, not to mention cripple Iwa’s only main profiting company. While it seemed a little like beating a dead horse, Iwa_ was _their main enemy, one that had even convinced Kumo and Kiri that Konoha was the biggest threat. Suna was still shaky, but even that alliance didn’t seem to hold much promise. The Third Kazekage was the only one responsible for the continued peace between Wind and Fire Country._

 

_They sped off in formation until they made it to the village’s edge. It was practically wartime, so the wards would be ridiculously tight, but luckily they didn’t have to worry since Sora’s seal took them to the very edge of the wards that encompassed the village and small surrounding area. They were already inside._

 

_Ijiri Pharmaceuticals was positioned on the northwest end of the village, which just so happened to also be right next to the Tsuchikage tower, not doubt on purpose. They stopped right outside the electric fence into the compound. Upon arrival, Sakumo ordered Korharu to use his Earth jutsu._

 

_“Earth Style: Tunnelling Technique,” the genjutsu specialist whispered as his hands sped through the hand seals. Slowly, so there wasn’t too much noise, a tunnel just big enough for an average sized man to fit through opened up in front of them. “This will close back up after you’re through it, so you’re on your own for getting back out.”_

 

_This was met with two sharp nods from Sakumo and Akio. Sakumo knew he’d probably have to pull something out of his ass on their way out unless they really were as stealthy as his former student seemed to think they could be (which he highly doubted). Either way, he’d deal with it when he got there._

 

_Tunnelling underneath the fence wasn’t exactly pleasant, since rocks kept getting lodged in places rocks should never be, but it did the job and he was successfully inside the company’s HQ. Akio wasn’t far behind, and as soon as they’d cleared the tunnel, the entire thing collapsed in on itself as if it hadn’t been there in the first place. Not even a displacement of dirt remained._

 

_The pair crouched down until they felt Korharu’s genjutsu settle over them like a warm blanket before fading into the background of their senses. As per their recently developed plan, Sakumo went to the left to create the distraction for Akio to sneak into Kiyoshi’s office. Sakumo headed into the nearest building, labeled_ Offices, _and acted like the janitor he was supposed to be. He knew that pretty soon he’d temporarily forget his name, his past, everything about himself._

 

_At 12:17 p.m. Northern Elemental Time (NET), Tanaka Fujiwara, janitor for Ijiri Pharmaceuticals and Medical Supplies, walked into work for his third shift of the week with three industrial sized cups of coffee shoved down his throat. He absolutely hated what he did, but it was the only job that could support his family of four and his sick mother in the shithole he called home. Scrubbing toilets, cleaning up vomit, tampering with the AC when the white coats got crabby, and making sure the floors were clean enough to eat off of was the last thing he ever thought he’d end up doing._

 

_Unfortunately, he didn’t have the money or the qualifications to get a new job. He was literally screwed as far as he was concerned; if he didn’t work himself dead then he’d just starve until he ended up in the same place._

 

_Coming up to Kiyoshi Ijiri’s office, he pulled out the mop and Pine-Sol to polish and clean the floor. The lemon scent made his sensitive nose twitch in irritation, but all the same he approached the ninja guarding the door to gain permission. The male was a standard Chuunin, but he guessed the woman was a Jounin._

 

_“What do you want?” the woman asked, her voice harsh._

 

_Tanaka averted his gaze because of the killer intent the woman was exuding, most likely to intimidate him, which was working. “I’m just the janitor. I’m supposed to clean Ijiri-san’s office.”_

 

_The Chuunin scowled and pulled a kunai from his leg pouch. “We weren’t informed of this. You’ll have to come back another time.”_

 

If I don’t get this done, _Tanaka thought wearily,_ then I’m as good as fired. _Taking a deep breath, he said, “Look, please let me through. If I don’t do this I’m fired. I need the money.”_

 

_The woman made an unpleasant noise in the back of her throat before holding a hand out to stall her fellow guard. “I understand, but we’re the security and you would be an unexpected security breach. If it becomes that much of a problem, we’ll answer for it. Now scram.” She took a step forward to emphasize her point._

 

_Tanaka nodded and ducked his head, slouching his shoulders as he passed. Unfortunately, he knocked into the Jounin on his way past and spilled the Pine-Sol all over both guards. The man swore like a sailor while the woman recoiled, and Tanaka backpedaled, not quite sure what to do but also afraid of their reactions._

 

_“You incompetent idiot!” the Chuunin shouted. Anger filled his words and he grabbed Tanaka by the collar. “I’m about five seconds away from making sure no one finds the ditch I leave you in, got that? You’re paying for my new pants, and if you think you’re keeping this job then you’re out of your goddamned mind.”_

 

_Honestly, at that point, Tanaka was just glad that he’d get away with his life. If he’d angered the Jounin, he’d probably already be a shishkabob in a trash bag. “I-I’ll p-pay for th-the pants,” he stuttered._

 

_The Chuunin scrunched up his nose and sneered, “Just hop off, Skippy.”_

 

_Suddenly, the Jounin stuck her hand out in front of her comrade. “Hold up a second,” she said. For some reason, her face softened. “Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a few bucks for your trouble and escort you back to the compound gates.”_

 

_“Wha— !” the Chuunin protested, but he was cut off by an elbow to the gut from his partner._

 

_“Forget about him,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go.”_

 

_Tanaka nodded vigorously and followed the woman down the hall, away from Kiyoshi Ijiri’s office. At the end of the hall, right where the emergency fire extinguisher was located, Tanaka Fujiwara suddenly reached into his front pocket for a tissue when his hand brushed a scroll. Curious, he pulled it out and unrolled it to see what it was. As they turned the corner, he touched the intricate symbol inked onto the paper and flinched as a blue glow lit up the scroll._

 

_At 12:36 p.m. NET, Sakumo Hatake pulled a kunai out of his sealing scroll and deftly slit his Jounin companion’s throat. To avoid blood spatter on the bright white linoleum, he immediately sealed her into a black-banded deceased scroll for later inspection. The resulting drops of blood that couldn’t be avoided were cleaned away with a quick Water Style._

 

_“And here I thought Iwa ninja were as hard as the land they live in,” Sakumo muttered to himself._

 

_As soon as the first guard was taken care of, Sakumo applied a low level genjutsu to make himself blend into the background and turned back around the corner. He then repeated the slit throat and sealing scroll with the hotheaded Chuunin still standing guard. The man didn’t have the chance to make a sound._

 

_Now that the guards were taken care of, Sakumo alternately dragged and tapped his boot against the floor in a pattern: drag, drag,_ tap _; drag, drag, drag. As if he were summoned, Akio appeared behind Sakumo silently and tapped the Hatake’s shoulder. “All ready, Cap.”_

 

This place is… generic, _was Sakumo’s first thought as he entered Ijiri’s office. It was basically a slightly expanded cubicle with a small dirty window on one side facing the inside of the compound. White paint, plastic furniture, and metal filing cabinets cluttered the relatively small space, and the entire room was stuffy and smelled like old people. Cheap ballpoint pens littered the desk along with a single family picture (which had Ijiri’s wife scribbled out with Sharpie). The blinds were dusty and closed tight._

 

_What the Konoha ninja really came for, though, was the man passed out on his desk, drooling all over his current paperwork. Kiyoshi Ijiri, CEO of Ijiri Pharmaceuticals. Sakumo guessed the man would be breathing for all of ten more seconds. As Akio decapitated the man and put him in a black-banded scroll, Sakumo began rifling through the drawers and filing cabinets, taking anything that seemed of value and storing it into scroll after scroll. Luckily, Sora had taught him how to do basic storage seals for things that didn’t need preserved (like paper), and he had an abundance of them pre-made._

 

_“Alright, let’s go. We need to vanish before anyone realizes what happened,” he said under his breath to Akio. He received a brisk nod and they were off._

 

_Their luck seemed to run out, however, because as soon as they stepped foot outside the office building and into the main compound, alarms started blaring incessantly. It bothered Sakumo’s more sensitive hearing and gave him a mild headache just listening to it._

 

_“Stop!” a Chuunin shouted at them as they ran. When the Iwa ninja realized they were taking off he stopped. “Dust Clone,” he said, his hands forming the seals. Four Dust Clones popped into existence and ran after Akio and Sakumo._

 

_“Toss me the intel!” Akio shouted to Sakumo, holding out his hand. “I’m faster than you, but you’re more powerful. If I run this to the fence, you can stall them long enough to hop the fence because of your lightning chakra.”_

 

_For a brief and unexplainable second, Sakumo didn’t want to give Akio anything, but his plan made sense and they were about to run out of options since three Jounins had suddenly come up behind the original Chuunin. He’d need all his maneuverability, speed, and power to avoid being killed. So, against his gut instinct, he tossed the intel over to his former student and turned around to face the oncoming ninja._

 

_Ninja had no honor, so it was four-on-one with Sakumo at a huge disadvantage. Or so the enemy thought._

 

_“Pure Lightning Kunai no Jutsu,” Sakumo said, not needing to shout his techniques to the heavens like some ninja did. Several kunai made out of pure lightning and superheated to scalding temperatures formed in his hands. The Iwa Chuunin scoffed, probably thinking that pure elemental weapons were low level._ Amateur.

 

_Deciding quickly, he threw the lightning kunai with startling accuracy, each hitting their designated targets including the Chuunin’s neck, chest, right elbow, and left kneecap. The ninja was dead before he hit the ground._

 

_“Alive Burial no Jutsu!”_

 

_Sakumo swore viciously as the ground underneath him opened up and he lost his balance. Channeling chakra to his palms and feet, he stuck to the side of the newly formed split before propelling himself upward as he flashed through hand seals. “Electric Fog no Jutsu.”_

 

_A translucent fog began blanketing the area and two of the Jounin, (_ probably the inexperienced ones, _Sakumo thought) paused to look around, obviously bewildered. This fog wasn’t what Kiri ninja used because it was thin and not stifling, so the greener Jounins didn’t understand what it was for. A shit-eating grin spread across Sakumo’s face as he held up the dog seal, and jets of electricity arched between the water molecules in the air, straight for the enemy nin. The two bewildered Jounin dropped like rocks, not quite dead but very much unconscious._

 

_As the electricity raced toward the final ninja, he held up a one-handed tiger seal and pulled a kunai out of his leg pouch. “Wind Style: Assassin’s Rush!”  And he disappeared._

 

_A kunai was plunged into Sakumo’s shoulder as the Iwa nin reappeared right in front of him, and he cursed. Sliding into his taijutsu stance, pulling the kunai from his shoulder, and drawing his chakra sabre from its sheath, he nodded his head in acquiesce. “Let’s go.”_

 

_The Iwa nin ran at Sakumo and kicked toward his solar plexus, but he dodged enough for it to skim his side. He used the momentum to follow through and land a spinning backfist, pushing the Jounin back and allowing him room to use his blade. He spun the blade and went for a downward strike, causing a deep cut down the nin’s chest. Sakumo didn’t let him have time to recover and brought his blade up toward the man’s exposed stomach, only to be blocked by a kunai. Gathering chakra, Sakumo channeled it into his tantō, emitting a buzzing noise as it charged. The enemy nin’s eyes widened and he coated his kunai with wind chakra in an attempt to counter Sakumo’s attack._

 

_Not wanting to chance it with wind chakra, Sakumo overcharged his blade with as much lightning chakra as he thought it could handle, and feigned a left jab before switching his tantō into a one-handed reverse grip to slash to the right. It caught on the nin’s collar bone and Sakumo grunted as he ripped the blade from flesh. The Iwa nin shouted out in pain and collapsed to his knees._

 

_“Konoha ninja don’t play,” Sakumo whispered. “Maybe your friends will remember that.” With that, he raised his blade and decapitated the Iwa ninja, the Jounin’s head hitting the ground with a_ thunk _and rolling away._

 

_“Hey! Over there!” a voice shouted from behind Sakumo. Realizing he needed to get out of there_ now _, he sped off using as much chakra enhancement as possible shy of obliterating his muscles and tendons._

 

_As soon as he reached the fence, he saw Akio and Sora duking it out with five Jounins. Akio skillfully took down one of them with his ninjatō while Sora knocked one out cold with a vicious kick into a boulder behind them, creating a crater. Sakumo channeled chakra into his limbs and hopped the fence with ease._

 

_“Guys! Let’s go!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the remaining enemies._

 

_But as he turned around, he saw over a dozen Jounin ready to kill his team. One of the ninja, a man with taupe colored hair, stepped forward and crossed his arms. “I hope you realize you’re on private property.” He turned to the rest of his men. “Kill them.”_

 

_At first, Sakumo thought that his team could most likely take them, considering their skill levels, but that’s when he turned around and saw Akio and Sora._ Only _Akio and Sora. Where was Korharu?_

 

_It didn’t take a man with imagination to guess what had happened. In the moments before he began the fight for his life, he snarled. Korharu Funaki was_ his _student, grown up or not. Korharu was_ his _responsibility and not only had he failed to protect one of the few people in this world that he truly cared for, but it was entirely his own fault. He’d decided that the mission came first. He’d decided that his son’s happiness was worth more than Korharu’s life. And_ he _had decided that his village was worth more than his friend._

 

_So these bastards were going down, if only for the sheer fact that he needed someone to fuck up,_ right now.

 

_He sheathed his sword so he could make this up close and personal._

 

_Sprinting at the nearest person, Sakumo threw a right cross, which landed square on the enemy’s nose, a satisfying_ crack _reaching his ears. Spinning around, he lashed out with a back kick while simultaneously blocking kunai from another opponent. Someone leapt at him with a ninjatō, but he dodged and grabbed them by the wrist, flipping them overhead and into one of their comrades. A kunai hit him in the shoulder, but he just grunted and yanked it out so that he could throw it into the eye of the nearest adversary, all the while fending off kunai and shuriken from all directions. Plenty still nicked him, but his adrenaline and fury were fueling his actions and nothing short of a sword to his chest would stop him._

 

_A stray kick sent him flying into a boulder, so he reinforced his skeleton and musculature with chakra and ended up creating one hell of a crater, which just made him angrier. He leapt out of the hole and sent his remaining kunai, save one, at every moving target wearing an Iwa forehead protector. Miraculously, he actually managed to drop one before he was impaled in the upper thigh by a kunai. Ninjutsu was flying everywhere, and he had to be careful not to get charbroiled or drowned or buried or cut to ribbons._

 

_“Finally got you, bastard,” came a voice from behind him as a ninjatō was plunged into his back, just shy of the spinal cord. It was a woman that looked highly familiar— a carbon copy of the Jounin guard that he had beheaded._

 

_That’s when Sakumo heard the scream. He couldn’t see anyone yet because of the sword about to sever his spine, but he knew it was Sora, and he would not let her die too. He was so pissed that as he pulled himself off her sword, he lunged at his current opponent (despite his injury) and grabbed the woman by the hair, unsheathed his sword, and decapitated her as his lightning chakra immediately cauterized the wound._

 

_Akio was twenty-five feet away held at sword point, and Sora was about to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies that had now arrived. What made her scream, however, wasn’t that Akio was about to be killed— no. It was that Akio then killed his captor, locked eyes with his former team, and left._

 

_The bastard turned tail and ran in the opposite direction of Fire Country with the intel valuable to the mission. Sakumo didn’t have time to process it, however, because both him and Sora were going to be fertilizer in the next thirty seconds if they couldn’t think of something. He was bleeding out and couldn’t feel his feet, and he knew that if he didn’t medical attention soon, it was all over._

 

_He found that it didn’t really scare him like he thought it would— like it used to. After Kaiya had died, the only thing that he still wanted out of his life was to raise their child to the best of his ability. For Kakashi to see him as a father, as a father that loved him. It was hard, and Sakumo was beginning to think that Kakashi would never want him as a dad, but that morning had pretty much thrown that out the window._

 

_Kakashi was his son, and he was damn proud of that. Even if he hadn’t been the best father in the world or the most compassionate, he’d like to think that at least Kakashi loved him. And really, that’s all that would matter in the end. That, sooner or later when Sakumo died, Kakashi would know that he had been loved._

 

_Looking back on it later, he would tell himself that he could’ve dodged that arrow if he’d really wanted to. Everyone insisted that no one could out-maneuver the Thieving Coyote, but as the arrow pinned him to a boulder and the seal on the shaft glowed a bright blue (_ too bright, _Sakumo thought), all he could do was stare numbly as his surroundings swirled into the familiar cacophony of colors that signified he was being transported via Bolting Arrow._

 

_He couldn’t speak as the medics at Konoha’s gates swarmed him nor could he speak when he was brought into the hospital and asked what had happened. A day later when the Hokage had demanded a debriefing and mission status, it was with a dead voice that he responded:_

 

_“Mission successful. Kiyoshi Ijiri is dead.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Kakashi wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but did know that Konoha’s ninja library wasn’t about to let some green Academy student rifle through books on chakra theory, so he pulled a modified _henge_ and went up to the desk as a run-of-the-mill Chuunin with tan hair and small stature. Immediately, he headed for the section on chakra.

 

He knew the basics, that chakra was formed with spiritual and physical energies, but he wasn’t sure how that would factor into his current predicament. Kakashi needed a more in-depth look at spiritual energy in particular since he would probably have a lot more of that than physical because of his future knowledge.

 

It took a minute, but he finally found a book that pertained to how spiritual energy was generated and how it was important in relevance to chakra control, the overall use of chakra, and what would happen if there was an energy imbalance. As he read further, he realized just how screwed he was.

 

‘Spiritual energy was typically considered to be generated by one’s experiences and memories— a cause and effect relationship. Another popular thinking was that civilians were unable to become ninja because they simply didn’t possess enough chakra in the first place. These myths were untrue because most people, ninja included, did not understand the relationship between spiritual energy and memories. One did not cause the other.

 

‘A regular civilian that was unable to utilize chakra was barred from doing so because of a chakra _imbalance_ , not because they didn’t have enough. Only about five percent of the human population didn’t have enough chakra to become ninja. The imbalance was what the issue was.

 

‘Physical energy was easily generated— all that was required was rigorous training and muscle memory. Spiritual energy, however, was different and much more complicated. While everyone experienced different things in their life and had memories of them, only certain people processed them correctly. While a civilian might witness a crime and be horrified (which would _not_ generate spiritual chakra), a ninja would see it, accept it, and maybe try to stop it. The mentality that a person had would dictate how their brains processed the stimulus it was receiving, thus created or not created spiritual energy. To become a ninja, one must have at least some shred of a warrior mentality, or they wouldn’t be able to mould chakra outside their bodies at all. Theoretically, one could build up enough physical energy to use it internally, but its highly unlikely and inordinately rare.

 

‘A typical civilian had two to three times more physical energy than spiritual, and that imbalance would limit them from moulding chakra. No bite with their bark, so to speak. Nothing substantial to really manifest the chakra and allow it to be utilized.

 

‘Theoretically, a chakra imbalance can happen the opposite way— too much spiritual energy and not enough physical. This is impossible in civilians, and only theoretical in shinobi because of the either monstrous life-span required or the improbable way their brain might process stimuli. It has been rumored that the Yamanaka Clan originating in Konoha has used the concept of chakra imbalance for torture and interrogation purposes, but nothing has been confirmed.

 

‘The biggest misconception surrounding spiritual energy is that spiritual energy and memories are one in the same. That one affects the other. The truth is that memories and experiences reside solely in the mind, while spiritual energy resides in the core. The rumored Yamanaka technique can supposedly bind the spiritual energy and memories, but not only is it unconfirmed, it also would be highly dangerous. It could cause headaches, uncontrollable chakra, twitching, and memory loss or memory inconsistencies. It is unknown if the spiritual energy and memories could be separated after being bound.’

 

Kakashi stared at the book for a full five minutes after he was finished reading, just trying to process the information presented to him. Although he wasn’t exactly sure if a chakra imbalance was his issue, it seemed highly likely, and that just made the solution harder. He’d have to talk to Jiraiya to see if he could have some of his spiritual energy sealed away until his body could handle it without screwing up his chakra control, but that meant that the Toad Sage would have to be informed of the whole deal that Kakashi was a _freaking time-traveler._ And that was even if the pervert was in the village.

 

Deciding that he wouldn’t get anything done sulking around the library, he returned the book to the front desk and headed toward the Hatake compound. His… home. (He still wasn’t sure what to think about that.)

 

By the time he’d come within five feet of the front door, Kakashi could already smell the overwhelming scent of alcohol that saturated the air. It was irritating to his nose, but he’d been in enough bars with Anko and Gai and Asuma that he could tolerate it now. Besides, his nose didn’t seem to be quite up to his future self’s standards, which wasn’t surprising.

 

When Kakashi entered the living room, all he saw was his father and Jiraiya passed out on the respective couch and armchair with sake bottles everywhere and even a bottle of vodka. (Kakashi had never liked the stuff— his preference usually leaned toward tequila from Suna or Fire Country cognac, if he felt fancy.)

 

_At least I don’t have to track down Jiraiya,_ Kakashi thought as he began collecting the alcohol bottles and tossing them. Tolerance for alcohol or not, the smell was getting to him. His younger self’s nose (wasn’t that confusing?) wasn’t used to it.

 

Kakashi must’ve been making enough noise to raise the dead because even out cold and in the drunken stupor he was most assuredly in, Jiraiya still managed to stumble to a standing position and peer suspiciously around the corner. What the man was not expecting was to see Sakumo’s son striding around the kitchen throwing away empty alcohol bottles like they were offending him. Jiraiya had seen plenty of odd things in his life, but just looking at the sight Kakashi made had him feeling like he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone.

 

“Uh…?” Jiraiya said eloquently. (Cut him some slack. He was drunk and probably assuming to be hallucinating.)

 

Kakashi turned around to look at the man. For a moment, all he saw was the Sannin’s casket at the funeral, but luckily he hadn’t seen the body, so he shook the memory away quickly. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “Do you prefer the sake from Kiri or Taki better? I, for one, think Kiri makes trashy beer, but their sake doesn’t seem to be too horrible. You seem to like it.”

 

_Yep, I’m hallucinating,_ Jiraiya thought as he fell back down onto the armchair. _I’ve gone and fucking lost it._ The Sannin pressed his hands to his temples in an attempt to quell his abominable headache.

 

“Maybe I overdid it,” Kakashi said to himself. “Too bad Tsunade hasn’t invented a cure for hangovers yet.”

 

****  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the wait, but I could not seem to motivate myself to write this chapter. It’s probably because I suck at writing action, so feel free to leave constructive criticism on that. I’m not used to it, and once I get in the swing of things, hopefully I’ll get better so I can come back and edit this. 
> 
> Otherwise, Eleven should be out no later than a week or week and a half because I can’t wait to write it. I’ve literally been waiting to write Eleven since I started plotting out the rest of the fic.
> 
> *wrings hands evilly* You’ll get a real feel for the style of the fic once I post Eleven.


	11. Eleven

_“To live is to suffer. To survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” — Friedrich Nietzsche_

 

Eleven

 

She wasn’t sure where she was, but the distinct taste of sand in between her teeth was severely off-putting.

 

The next thing that registered was everything that led up to her current predicament, whatever that was. The riot, Korharu… she clenched her jaw. She couldn’t let herself think about that or she wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from welling behind her eyes. It was easier to focus on her surroundings, to figure out where she could possibly be. Unfortunately, the most likely option was that the Iwa nins had caught her and that she was being held prisoner.

 

Then again, the sand that was _still_ in her mouth was suggesting otherwise. Not to mention it was crazy hot and unbearably dry. Just thinking of water made her want to open her eyes and take her chance with whoever had found her.

 

She’d come to the conclusion that someone had found her because after she’d stuck Sakumo-sensei with one of her arrows, she’d decided to hell with it and used the Bolting Arrow one more time, not sure where it would send her or if it would work at all. She’d never attempted to use the seal with such a small amount of chakra, and wouldn’t have been surprised if the chakra exhaustion had killed her.

 

When she tried to move her limbs, she was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren’t tied down or restrained in any way. They were heavy with the weight of chakra exhaustion, but otherwise free of cuffs or ropes. Sighing in relief, she tried to sit up, but found that her entire body ached with the aftereffects of her escapade in Iwa and laid back down, deciding to familiarize herself with her surroundings.

 

She was lying in what seemed to be a small room with adobe brick walls and sparse furnishings, including the full bed she was lying on, a small nightstand, a dresser, and a single lamp. There was nothing on the walls, no windows, and nothing else to suggest where she might be. Just from the walls, she’d guess Suna, but that didn’t exactly make much sense, so she couldn’t really come to any solid conclusions.

 

 _Damn, I’m bored,_ she thought idly as she counted the spots on the ceiling. The ceiling was a different material than the walls, probably drywall, and had the distinct markings of water damage scattered across the far side by the door. Luckily, it didn’t take long before the door to the room opened.

 

Whoever she was expecting, the person that came in definitely wasn’t it. He couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old with fiery red hair, not dissimilar to an Uzumaki’s, and slightly duller red eyes. Her Suna theory was confirmed by the forehead protector that the boy wore. He was slight in stature, but she didn’t let that fool her, especially in Suna because of their Puppet Brigade. The members of that unit weren’t physically imposing, but were much more creative in their methods of killing, so she didn’t want to tick this boy off.

 

Still, she was a ninja, and as soon as the door opened she went for her weapons, which weren’t on her person. (Of course.)

 

Interestingly enough, as soon as the mystery boy realized that she was awake, his eyes widened and he faltered with the water jug in his hand. They simply stared at each other for a minute before the boy seemed to gather himself and cleared his throat.

 

“I, uh, brought water. I also thought you might want food because of the chakra exhaustion, but I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up, so…” He trailed off and looked down at the water in his hands.

 

“Thank you,” she croaked, her voice thick with the lack of water and scratchy because of the sand that seemed to coat her throat. The boy realized this and came forward to hand her the water. She sat up slowly and accepted it gratefully.

 

After that, the two sat in silence. She had no idea why this Suna boy had her in some room, or if anyone else knew about this, but she was content to wait him out. Not many eleven-year-olds would be able to sit still for very long if they had some secret mystery person right in front of them, and if others knew about her and he was instructed to keep watch, then she wouldn’t want to say anything anyway.

 

He seemed to be struggling with something, but apparently came to a conclusion because he met her eyes and said, “No one else knows you’re here. If you were wondering.”

 

She was wondering, but wasn’t going to tell him that. “Is that why I’m not restrained?”

 

He tilted his head, but didn’t comment. Instead, he went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out a set of clothes that looked like they’d fit her. “There are undergarments in the other drawers, but they might not fit. These clothes look about your size, and your weapons are in the nightstand. Your quiver and bow are outside. Whenever you leave, I’ll give them back to you.” With that, he turned to leave.

 

“Wait.” She wasn’t about to let this mystery boy leave without at least some information. “What’s your name?”

 

Leaning on the doorframe with his eyes hooded by his hair, he replied, “Nothing that would matter to you.” He left without another word.

 

The next few hours passed mundanely, mostly filled with her playing target practice with a shirt she’d strung up on the ceiling via shuriken. She’d throw kunai at the shirt until she only had one left, and then use the last one to knock one down, and go from there. She was going to get up and pace for absolutely no reason, but she was slipping in and out of consciousness for a good four hours after the mystery boy’s departure because chakra exhaustion was a bitch like that. Eventually, she just gave up trying to entertain herself and decided to ponder the moral quandaries of life, which just drove her to the brink of batshit insane because she couldn’t give a flying fuck about things like that.

 

Her boredom and general uselessness was getting to her so badly that she was briefly considering using a kunai to nick her fingers just for some fucking entertainment, even if that was watching herself bleed. (Yes, she did realize she was being morbid— sue her.)

 

Eventually, after an indiscernible amount of time, the door finally opened again and in came the same red-haired boy. This time he was carrying a tray of food, which looked to be some kind of stewed rodent with rye bread and a cup of something that didn’t look, or smell, like water. (She wasn’t as finely in tune with alcohol as Sakumo-sensei, or Jiraiya for that matter, but from her limited experience she was decently sure that it wasn’t sake, nor was it anything distilled.)

 

“I brought some food,” the boy said flatly, handing her the tray. He spared short glance at the kunai on the ceiling before turning his gaze back to her. “What’s your name?”

 

That posed somewhat of a problem. She was fairly well-known because of her status in the Bingo Book, but a probable Genin or low-ranked Chuunin from Suna may not be privy to that information, so she wasn’t exactly sure she should tell the truth. Then again, this boy seemed to have a familiar air about him that she couldn’t quite place— it surrounded him, and it reminded her of herself in some odd way. And damn, wasn’t it going to bug her until she figured it out.

 

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked instead because the silence had gone on long enough. “How do I know that you’re not just some decoy so that I talk?” She didn’t really believe that, but quirked an eyebrow anyway, curious to his reaction.

 

He shifted uncomfortably and she decided that he didn’t need to stand. She sat up and patted the end of her bed. He didn’t say anything, but did take the offered seat.

 

He cleared his throat, which she’d found he did to alleviate an awkward situation. “You don’t, but it’s not like I know anything about you. Your name— your village even.” He glanced up at her. “You know I’m from Suna.”

 

 _That’s somewhat reasonable,_ she thought. So she said, “I’m from Konoha. A Jounin.” He nodded and told her that he was a Chuunin— had been since he was eight. It seemed slightly young to her, but then again, Sakumo-sensei’s son was due to graduate the Academy in a few months and he was only five, so she supposed it wasn’t too unreasonable. Especially since they were all on the brink of war.

 

“Why am I here?” she asked because, honestly, that question was getting to her. She’d thought about it for hours, but hadn’t come up with any reason why this boy would have taken her— wherever— and help her out.

 

The boy shrugged somewhat, as if he wasn’t quite sure himself, and replied, “You appeared right in front of me, on the brink of death, and there was nothing to suggest you were an enemy, so I brought you back to a lesser-known Suna operations base only used during active wartime. We’re underground, if you were wondering about the lack of windows and water damage.” He shrugged again as if that was that.

 

She coughed and shifted. _This kid is probably the oddest eleven-year-old I’ve ever met._

 

“When can I go?” she said instead. She didn’t want to offend him any more than she probably already had.

 

Another shrug. “Whenever you want. I’m not keeping you here. I’d recommend at least another night to recover from the chakra exhaustion, but it’s completely up to you.”

 

As he left again, she reminded herself that whatever that feeling was, she wasn’t going to pinpoint it if she left. She slept decently that night, not even having her familiar nightmares that just wouldn’t let her go of late.

 

X.x.X.x.X

 

She woke to shouting.

 

Not the kind of shouting like when you woke up to an ambush or stray bandits or anything like that. No, this was obviously some type of argument, though she couldn’t really hear what it was about from her closed off room. She did, however, recognize the voice of the boy who’d been helping her out. So, curiosity thoroughly peaked, she carefully cracked her bedroom door and directed chakra to her ear so she could hear.

 

“What are you doing here?” a woman whom she didn’t know shouted shrilly. “How many times has this been in the last month? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? This isn’t healthy!”

 

 _He isn’t supposed to be here?_ she thought as different scenarios filled her brain.

 

“That isn’t your choice, okay? I’m part of the Puppet Brigade, so it’s my _job_ to create newer, better tools for killing, isn’t it?” the boy shouted back, his voice obviously shaking from the emotion behind his words. Whatever was going on, the boy was not coping well.

 

That just made her sense of familiarity flare up again, and she had no idea why. But _something_ about this boy was reminding her of herself— and it was maddening. Even this exchange with some mystery woman was almost giving her déjà vu. She shook her head— this wasn’t helping.

 

“I don’t care. You’re my grandson and I refuse to let you waste away in here with nothing but inanimate puppets for company. What would your parents say?” the woman implored. By the boy’s reaction, it was the wrong thing to say. His voice was dangerously low and threatening.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about my parents, not when you ignored my mother like she was some common whore and almost kicked my father out of the family for marrying her,” he spat, his words laced with venom, his voice dripping daggers.

 

There it was again. That nagging feeling, that familiar sense of… of… _Shit. That’s why something about him felt familiar._ Suddenly, she felt the pieces click together, and it made her immediately shut her door and stop eavesdropping on the boy’s conversation with his grandmother. Now that she figured it out, she felt like a total dick. She sat back on the bed and laid down across the middle, her head dangling over the edge, as unwanted memories came to the forefront of her mind. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face to try and forget about—

 

“Fine,” the woman whispered, but she caught it because they’d moved closer to the door. “Fine. Rot in here for all I care. But _don’t_ come crawling back to me.” A few seconds later, the sound of a door slamming could be heard and it echoed throughout the entire adobe.

 

 _BAM!_ The door to her room was kicked in with such a vicious force that she jumped and immediately loosed a kunai in the vicinity of the doorway. It was deflected without a thought, and before the boy, who was angry beyond belief, even looked at her, he picked up her stray kunai and plunged it into the wall to his left. He pulled it out and stabbed the wall again, again, again, again. It was relentless, and he kept at it for a good ten minutes. Just lashing out at the only real thing in the room that he wasn’t in danger of breaking should it face his rage.

 

After a while, he wound down, his explosive anger calming down into a simmering frustration, but it was obvious that whatever had gone down not exactly a frequent occurrence, but one that _hurt_.

 

She recognized the grief that clutched at his heart like a vice, the hurt that weighed his shoulders down, and the loss that saturated the air around him. It was clear he was drowning, drowning and no one was there to throw him a lifeline. She recognized it because that was her not even two years ago, being buried underneath a wave of guilt and grief and depression. She hid it with anger and sarcasm, not letting anyone close to her in case they went and died on her, too. This Suna boy that found her just screamed _drowning_.

 

The boy took a heaving breath and slid down the wall, sitting on the floor and pulling his knees to his chest with his head between his knees. There was silence for a moment where both of the occupants of the room couldn’t bring themselves to break the quiet.

 

Finally, he raised his head and looked in her direction. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

 

She didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything to say.

 

“It’s just that—” he choked out, biting his lip. “They— my parents— she has no right to say _anything_ about them. They—” He cut himself off again as tears prickled his eyes. “They were all I had left, and she still has the balls to tell me to get over it.

 

“What does she expect me to do? What does anyone expect me to do? I’m a ninja, and hopefully a good one, but I— I _can’t_ get over my parents like they were strangers, or just another random ninja, even if it’s been five years. They weren’t perfect, but they raised me, they got me interested in puppets, they were there for me even when they came back from a mission completely exhausted or injured. Now what am I supposed to do? Get an apartment? Live by myself? I can’t keep staying with Lady Chiyō, as she’s made perfectly clear. I’m in the Puppet Brigade, so we don’t have teams, and either way Chuunins are mostly solo

if they’re old enough.

 

“And what do I do with you? Some random Konoha ninja that I’m not even supposed to be _talking to_ , let alone have brought within a mile of the village! I just—” He couldn’t continue and tried in vain to wipe away the tears that were spilling down his face.

 

She wasn’t sure she could help him out at all, especially considering she was barely over her own grief, but she knew better than anyone that sometimes you just needed another person  to understand. Not feel sorry, or give you pity, or offer condolences, but _understand_ . “My father was killed two years ago. Killed because I wasn’t in the village. Killed because I wasn’t careful enough in hiding him. Killed because of the enemies that _I_ made.” Her words were barely audible.

 

She took a deep breath. “His death was my fault. I still don’t know if I forgive myself.”

 

That made him startle and look up at her with wide eyes. In that moment, he looked like the young boy he was more than ever. “What did you do?” The unrestrained hope in his eyes almost broke her heart.

 

“I hunted down the man responsible and killed him. He had a family, friends, people who cared about him. I never forgave myself for that, either.” She turned her head away in an attempt to block out the painful memories. The memories of her father’s dead body, of the man’s slit throat, of his family’s terror and hate-filled eyes as she killed their father, husband, friend. Tears burned hot behind her eyes, but she pushed them back.

 

In a low, shaky voice, she told him, “Don’t ever go after whoever was responsible. Don’t… It just kills you again inside, reminds you of how disappointed they’d be. And I—” She choked back her tears. “I _know_ my father would be disappointed.”

 

He didn’t say anything, and for that she was grateful.

 

“I… I never did tell you my name,” the boy said after a minute. He glanced at her with those light red eyes as if he were debating whether or not he was crazy for doing this. “It’s Sasori. I’m a Chuunin. Eleven.”

 

She blinked, finally able to connect a name to this odd boy. “I should probably return the favor. Sora Kuramoto. I’m a Jounin. Eighteen.”

 

X.x.X.x.X

 

They’d sat in silence for a few hours before Sasori had left, saying that his recent time off was up, and that he had to report for another mission. Sora had nodded and it went unspoken that she wouldn’t be there when he got back. Of course, he’d have to stop back to the base anyway for his puppets once he found out the mission specifics.

 

It didn’t take long, and next thing she knew was that Sasori was back with a slightly worried expression on his face. She didn’t need to ask to know that whatever was about to go down, it wasn’t going to be pretty or easy. (She knew what that was like.)

 

She was sitting in the open lobby-ish area by the front of the base when he’d come back. As soon as he came in, he began scrambling around, obviously looking for something but having no luck, and after a few minutes of futility he just sat down on the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sora asked.

 

Sasori sighed. “I can’t find my newest puppet additions. It’s supposed to be a new poison that paralyzes the victim for twelve hours, and it would be damn helpful for what I’m being told to do, but it’s not here even though I _swear_ that I completed it.”

 

Sora thought about anything she might’ve seen, but not only did she not know what she was looking for, but she didn’t know her way around the base like Sasori probably did. So she settled with a neutral shrug. Sasori just heaved another sigh before disappearing into the back storage rooms that he told her he’d converted a year ago into his puppet workshop.

 

As soon as Sasori disappeared behind the workshop door, Sora began entertaining a crazy idea. She was well-aware that she should be heading back to Konoha immediately now that she’s in decent enough condition to use the Bolting Arrow, but Sasori was just interesting to her. He was definitely a lonely kid, and he reminded her so much of herself that she couldn’t help but want to stick around just a little longer. Besides, he obviously was a genius with puppets. If war did break out, she damn well hoped that Suna and Konoha would be allies. (Or at least that she wasn’t the poor sap fighting against him.)

 

Soon Sasori was back, and Sora decided that the least she could do was look for whatever he’d been working on. She knew how important any advantage was in a fight to the death, and she really didn’t want the kid to die before she could have a decent conversation with him. Besides, she’d never been to Suna and wouldn’t mind being shown around before she had to leave. (Which she had to at some point.)

 

Sasori came back in decked out in a black tunic-like top that had a high collar with black ninja pants and the standard hip pouches and kunai holsters. His forehead protector was tied firmly above his eyes to keep his hair back. As Sora was quickly realizing, Sasori wasn’t exactly the most talkative person. The outburst from yesterday was a rare, if not nonexistent, phenomenon, and he was prone to long hours in his workshop making and improving puppets or heading out to receive a new mission. As far as Sora knew, there wasn’t anyone he interacted with on any personal level except for his grandmother, who he obviously was less than thrilled to talk to. (She wasn’t all that surprised. She’d heard the reports of what Lady Chiyō was like from Tsunade before.)

 

As he left, Sasori met her gaze and nodded to her. There was true gratitude in his eyes along with such a deep longing and resignation that she wondered how anyone had missed it. Then again, she knew that a person only saw what they wanted to see better than most.

 

That did it. It was stupid and reckless and illogical, but she wasn’t going to let go of this Suna shinobi so easily. It wouldn’t be hard to track him with her summons, and if she could track down his poison, or at least some kind of poison, she could provide a little support.

 

The biggest reason that she was going to all this trouble was simply… instinct. Something was telling her she needed to go after this boy, and she’d never been one to go against her instinct. It rarely ever failed her, and for whatever reason, her gut was telling her to go after Sasori.

 

He left quickly, obviously not eager to be late, and she let him go so she could figure out where his poison could be. Sasori said he’d been in his workshop day in and day out to finish Crow’s newest addition, so she was skeptical that he would’ve misplaced it here. And the only other person besides herself that was in here was…

 

Lady Chiyō.

 

She must’ve taken it, though Sora had no clue as to why the head of Suna’s hospital would do that. Not to mention that Lady Chiyō was a close advisor to the Kazekage and therefore shouldn’t have a reason to take a poison that was probably not as good as what the higher echelons of Suna’s military government would be able to either develop or procure.

 

Either way, it looked like she was about to break into the Kazekage Tower. Huh. She was just getting into the habit of trying to piss off every village she stepped foot in, wasn’t she?

 

The best part was that she didn’t even need to worry about getting inside Suna because of the Bolting Arrow. (Man, wasn’t she glad she invented _that_ seal? Talk about tiring actually having to infiltrate places the mundane way.) So, shouldering her quiver and readying her bow, she nocked an arrow but didn’t draw back, formed a one-handed rat seal, and said, “Fuuinjutsu.” Her surroundings swirled in a familiar pattern and not but a second later she was standing in a back alley not far from the Kazekage Tower. A grin worthy of the Chesire Cat spread across her face and she decided she needed to develop something to detect fuuinjutsu usage within Konoha’s village limits so this didn’t happen to Konoha.

 

Still. She was about to have some fun. (It would’ve been almost worth it to see the look on the Kazekage’s face if she’d appeared in his office, but didn’t think that the Hokage, or Suna, would appreciate that.)

 

To avoid detection as an outsider, Sora reigned her chakra in so that it was virtually nonexistent and put all her weapons away after making sure the area she landed in was at least temporarily safe. There was no way that she would be able to pull off a complete civilian (her instincts were too ingrained), but that hardly mattered because ninja tended to be really lax within their own village, mostly due to their trust in the border security. It was probably a good thing that no one knew about the Bolting Arrow but a select few in Konoha.

 

After ensuring that she looked like a civie to the unattentive eye, Sora set out toward the Kazekage Tower. She wasn’t about to just waltz in since the security there would catch her pretty quickly, so she planned to use Suna’s own technique against them: chakra strings.

 

A skilled puppeteer could use chakra strings to manipulate not only puppets but living humans too, and after a run-in with the technique, Sora felt it would be highly useful in her arsenal. She was no expert at it by any means, but she could manipulate people to a believable degree— most of the time. Admittedly, she was a little iffy, but her chakra control was exceptional, good enough to be a medic nin had she wanted to, so once she’d practiced a good deal, she was passable.

 

Now all she had to do was injure herself enough to gain access to Suna’s hospital, which was attached to the Kazekage Tower, but not too severely so she was still able to get back out again. To ensure that her weapons weren’t found, she made use of the tattoos on her arms.

 

When Jiraiya-sensei had showed her and Minato the final step in storage sealing, she’d been a little skeptical at first. The idea of having permanent seals on your skin wasn’t unbelievable, but she thought they were rather obvious if that’s all you did, so when she designed her seals, she weaved the seal into another, more artistic design. It was complicated because she had to use an old Uzumaki structure that was rather difficult to work with, but in the end it looked to the untrained eye as if she’d tattooed the Uzumaki swirl mixed with the Konoha leaf in an admittedly beautiful array.

 

Unfortunately, it did identify her with Konoha, but that was actually something she was banking on to get medical treatment right away. Technically, Suna was allies with Konoha, so they _probably_ wouldn’t detain her, and the circumstances she was going to set up to injure herself were going to shed a poor light on Suna.

 

Her only hope was that this stunt _didn’t_ start the Third Shinobi World War. (Crossies, right?)

 

Now that all her weapons were sealed into her arm tattoo, she used chakra strings to snag the burliest looking Jounin from the crowd of rooftop ninja. The shimmering blue strings were nigh invisible and connected in all the right spots. Immediately, she directed the man to run at her as fast as he possibly could, and she suddenly flared her chakra and took off running with the Jounin supposedly ‘hot on her heels’.

 

The effect was instantaneous: ninja all over the village noticed the sudden chakra flare and it wasn’t long before they spotted her and the random Jounin chasing her. Sora snorted at their response time— if an unknown was in your village and being chased by one of your ninja, shouldn’t you react a little faster?

 

Reaction times aside, Sora knew it would be long before they came out of their stupor and went to support their fellow ninja. The benefit of the doubt wouldn’t be on her until the facts came out at the hospital, but she needed to be injured by this man ‘chasing’ her so that her story would be at least semi-believable. Luckily, she still had old bruises from the fight a day ago with the Iwa ninjas that could help corroborate.

 

Manipulating her fingers to send the Jounin at her with a kunai, she acted as if she stumbled so she could hit the ground hard. She pretended to try and block the kunai, but had the Jounin follow her movements and slash her in the upper arm, gouging deeply. She hissed in pain, but otherwise made no noise. Then, relaxing her muscles to take as minimal amount of damage as possible, he maneuvered her fingers so that the Jounin skewered her in the shoulder, just slightly lower than the actual bone so the healing was faster. Finally, to be as legitimate as possible, she made the man stab her in the side as she gritted her teeth in pain.

 

Suddenly, half a dozen high ranking ninjas were surrounding them, and Sora severed her chakra strings. The best thing about them in her opinion was that were undetectable if the recipient doesn’t already know the feeling. They can’t be traced or proven to be used unless they were seen directly. The Suna Jounin shook himself as regained control of his body, and seemed to be lost as to what actually happened.

“Who are you?” a woman barked in Sora’s direction. Obviously they would assume her to be the threat first.

 

She needed to bank on the mission that Sakumo-sensei completed and claim she was seeking refuge, so she said, “Sora Kuramoto, a Jounin from Konoha. I was injured in a previous mission and needed medical treatment.” She grimaced at her wounds and was suddenly glad that her chakra was not fully recovered from the Iwa mission. All evidence suggested what she said was true.

 

“Why were you being chased?” a man asked, more toward the Jounin Sora had manipulated than Sora herself.

 

Obviously, the man had no idea. “I— uh… don’t know?”

 

No one commented, but Sora could tell that threw them slightly for a loop. The man who’d asked the question scooped her up from the ground and began to jump rooftops toward the hospital. She admired the village as they headed there.

 

Suna was an unforgivingly harsh land, yet it was beautiful in its own cruel way. The adobe bricks, flat-topped roofs, and squatted, low ceilinged buildings spoke of a minimalist mindset born out of necessity which seemed to dictate the life here. The civilians were straight-backed and proud as they went about their shopping and daily lives, almost as if no matter what was thrown at them, they would stand tall, the only thing unwilling to succumb to the blowing winds, scorching temperatures, and grating sand.

 

They reached the hospital quickly. Sora was dumped on a stretcher and taken to a room with a gruff medic nin. She pulled out bandages and some medical tape, setting them on the tray to the side before performing all types of diagnostic jutsu and, eventually, healing jutsu. Sora sighed as her cuts and bruises were healed, along with the gash on her arm and the wound on her side. Even her chakra spiked a little higher after she was finished being treated.

 

The side wound was bad enough that it still needed to be bandaged to keep the raw skin from ripping open again. The medic nin warned her that if she did anything too strenuous then she was at risk for pulling the barely-closed wound and making the scarring worse, or going as far to rip it open again and having it get infected, which would be much harder to treat. Sora just nodded and awaited the two people she knew would come to see her.

 

It didn’t take long, and Sora’s expectations didn’t disappoint her. The Third Kazekage, Tetsunaka Amori, came in first, followed quickly by Lady Chiyō.

 

Sora had never personally met Tetsunaka Amori. He was known all throughout the Elemental Countries as the strongest Kazekage to ever lead Sunagakure, but since she was obviously only a Jounin, and not a diplomat at that, she’d never had any reason to meet the man. Now that she was up close and personal with him, she could easily see why he was such an effective leader.

 

He had the air of superiority, but not the arrogance of some like the Raikage. He held himself squarely, was highly analytical and observational (according to the eyes sweeping over her and the room), and from the stories of his fighting capabilities, she’d be hard-pressed to pick a victor between the Third Kazekage and the Third Hokage. In her opinion, it would probably be a long battle and come down to situational complications and environment.

 

Either way, this was one of the most powerful human beings in the world, and let it never be said that Sora Kuamoto denied respect to those that deserved it. She inclined her head and greeted, “Good afternoon, Kazekage-sama. Lady Chiyō.”

 

The Kazekage nodded at her while Chiyō seemed to get right to the chase. “What were you doing in our village?” the older woman barked none too kindly.

 

Sora gestured to herself since she thought the answer fairly obvious, but managed to keep the mocking out of her voice when she replied, “I was carrying out a mission for Konoha when my team was ambushed and slaughtered. I barely escaped due to some lucky fuuinjutsu and most of the assailants having had an elemental affinity disadvantage. Sunagakure was the closest resource for medical treatment that wasn’t hostile, so I tried to make it to the hospital when I was attacked by one of your ninja.”

 

Chiyō bristled. “Are you implying that _our_ ninja was responsible for your predicament?” she spat venomously.

 

The Kazekage put his hand out to quiet his advisor. Sora watched him warily, though she hid it well behind an ANBU-esque facade. “I’m curious as to how you managed to get into the village, Kuramoto-san. Tensions are running high and our ninja are on alert, as I’m sure you can understand.”

 

Sora nodded politely and gestured to the walls around them. “If you may excuse me, Kazekage-sama, I can’t tell you until we are in a more private location. Our village may be allies, but there are plenty who are not, and while I don’t doubt your integrity or your capability to root out spies, this information is highly classified and I can’t justify telling you in such an open setting.”

 

As expected, the Kazekage simply nodded and turned for the door. “I will await your recovery, Kuramoto-san,” he said as he exited. Chiyō wasn’t far behind him, though she shut the door a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

 

The second the door was closed, Sora got to work. She made a Shadow Clone and then repressed all of her chakra so that she could sneak out without suspicion. There were no doubt ANBU watching her, so her only chance was her faithful Bolting Arrow, which she didn’t want anyone to know about save maybe the Kazekage, but that didn’t hinder her. She weaved one of the few low-level genjutsus she knew which just temporarily distorted the vision before unsealing her weapons and gearing up. As she always did when Bolting, she nocked an arrow but didn’t draw back, raised her right hand in a one-handed rat seal, and whispered, “Fuuinjutsu.”

 

She appeared just outside of Suna, not far from Sasori’s workshop, with her bow drawn in case of any threats. Even though she was outside Suna didn’t mean she’d let her guard down. It was too ingrained in her.

 

Her second storage seal on her body was a seal weaved into the body of a coyote on her right hip, underneath her shirt. It was hidden in such a way because the scroll contained in the seal was her most prized possession, something even more valuable than her bow:

 

A summoning scroll. More specifically, the summoning scroll for coyotes.

 

Unrolling it, she bit her finger and swiped her blood along the paper before slamming it down onto the ground and shouting, “Summoning Jutsu!” After a puff of smoke, in front of her stood a beautiful, and rare, black coyote with a silver streak through its tail. Sora pulled out a tool of Sasori’s that she nabbed from his workshop so that the coyote she summoned, Kishi, could track him. Kishi lifted his head and sniffed at the air before pawing the ground and taking off. She followed Kishi, keeping pace with him easily, before smirking to herself at how easy her grab-and-go was.

 

For as great as Chiyō was supposed to be, apparently that was mostly rumor because all it took to steal something directly on her person was to get her angry. Sora had Sasori’s poison alright— Chiyō had been ignorant enough to keep it on her person and then be dumb enough to get close enough to a skilled S-rank Jounin known for her unparalleled infiltration and deception techniques. All it took to distract the woman was simply a well-placed, politely disguised insult, a seal that functioned like genjutsu but was undetectable, and her snagging the actual thing. It helped, though, that she could smell the foul stuff as soon as the old hag had stepped into the room.

 

The Kazekage, however, was an entirely different matter. That little trick might’ve fooled Chiyō, but Sora wasn’t so arrogant to think that she pulled the wool over a Kage’s eyes. And because there currently weren’t any ninja being deployed to track her down, he must’ve known she would come back...? He had to have known that the White Fang killed Chiyō’s son and daughter-in-law, and if he was well-versed in the current Bingo Book like the Hokage, then he would well know that Sora Kuramoto was the name of one of Sakumo’s teammates.

 

Then again, everyone knew that the Kazekage wanted peace with Konoha, so maybe he was giving her the benefit of the doubt? That was unlikely too because he wouldn’t be that naïve.

 

Kishi stopped abruptly, yanking Sora out of her thoughts and bringing her attention to the matter at hand. Gauging her surroundings and along her map, she figured she was close to the Wind/Rain border. Her coyote yipped quietly before standing rigid and snout pointed slightly northeast. She nodded and Kishi left with a puff of smoke.

 

She took off northeast and it didn’t take long to come across Sasori. He was using two puppets to fend off half a dozen indistinguishable enemies. Another boy about Sasori’s age was trying to fight off three ninja that seemed to be Genin, maybe a Chuunin. She couldn’t tell where the attackers were from, but that hardly mattered. Drawing back her bow and nocking three arrows, she released the string and barely registered the sharp _slap!_ of the bowstring on her arm guard. All three arrows hit their targets in the necks of the three unsuspecting enemies.

 

Her entrance drew everyone’s attention immediately of friend and foe alike, and Sasori’s eyes widened while the other boy took a defensive stance, unsure of whether she was an enemy or not. Sora smiled with all teeth and nocked two more arrows. They puncture the necks of two more adversaries.

 

“I thought you might want this,” Sora said in a playful tone as she handed Sasori the poison. He kept looking from her to the vial of poison before he nodded his thanks and grabbed it from her to adjust his puppet. She jumped right back into the fray.

 

With his new advantage, Sasori was a killing machine with his puppets, especially since the poison temporarily paralyzed its victims. Sora barely had to do anything, but decided to take the highest ranking one: a green-as-grass Jounin that was too arrogant for his own good. She shouldered her bow because she didn’t think she’d need it for this fight. Palming two kunai, she lunged.

 

Upon closer inspection, the offending party here was a group of Iwa ninja— which just made Sora growl menacingly. Iwa pissed her off to no end and she wasn’t about to let this group of idiots get away with whatever the hell they thought they were doing here. Whatever they wanted with Suna’s lesser-known border areas couldn’t be good, so she snarled and jabbed at her opponent.

 

He wasn’t even fast enough to dodge her first blow and took the kunai with a very unmanly yelp before he was kicked viciously in the solar plexus and sent flying. Sora chuckled and dashed forward to grab the man by the hair and slam his face into the sand, making sure it got up his nose and into his eyes. He choked, but she just laughed and used her second kunai to slit his throat.

 

“Pathetic waste of space,” she hissed as his body slumped back into the sand.

 

Losing spacial awareness was common during a fight, and Sora found herself scanning what was left of the area they’d all fought on. Sasori was finishing up with a weak-looking ninja while the rest of the opponents were sprawled on the sand, very much dead. The other boy that had been fighting with Sasori was trying to fend off a likely Chuunin, but it was clear he was out-matched. Sora was a good three hundred yards away from him, so she pumped chakra into her feet to try and get to the boy in time to stop the sword strike she saw coming…

 

But it was futile. She made it just a second too late, and as she decapitated the Iwa nin she saw the boy’s arm get severed by his enemy’s blade. The boy screamed and his knees gave out, but Sora caught him so he didn’t get sand into his newly amputated arm. Luckily (discounting his earlier lack of luck), he still had his elbow, so if any functional prosthetics were ever made then he would be have a higher chance of gaining mobility back.

 

Unfortunately, right now he was bleeding out. If Sora didn’t get him to a hospital within the next ten minutes, he’d be at risk for death via blood loss. (And wasn’t that a charming way to go?)

Sora picked the boy up and turned in Sasori’s direction. “Do you know any genjutsu?” she demanded.

 

Sasori blinked as he took in his comrade’s condition, but nonetheless replied, “A few B-ranks. Sensory distortion, false darkness, the like.”

 

“Use a sensory distortion because I’m going have to Bolt with both of you if you want your friend here to live,” she barked as she shifted the boy’s weight to draw and arrow out of her quiver. He was in tremendous pain and, contrary to popular belief, was still very much conscious. His panicking was just accelerating his bleeding and she changed her estimation to five minutes. Any longer and he was at the very least at risk for brain damage due to lack of blood (therefore oxygen), and at the worst— death.

 

Once the genjutsu settled over them, Sora handed Sasori the arrow and said, “Hold this. I’ll explain later. Fuuinjutsu!” And they were gone.

 

When Sora had wanted to pop into the Kazekage’s office earlier, she was joking. This time, however, she didn’t have the time to appreciate his shock. “Kazekage-sama, I’ll explain in a minute, but this kid is going to die if someone doesn’t treat him.”

 

She respected Tetsunaka Amori five times more when he just waved away his ANBU and called in the medics while giving her a calm nod. She passed off the still-nameless boy and sat down heavily in a chair across from the Kazekage’s desk.

 

Amori waited until his office had been cleared out besides Sora and Sasori before he spoke. “My biggest question is how you appeared out of nothing in front of my desk.”

 

Before she did anything, Sora bit her thumb and used the blood to draw a wide-range privacy and security seal on the floor in front of her so that no unwanted ears could intrude. She received an interested raising of eyebrows from Amori, but nothing else.

 

Sora nodded and slid her quiver and bow off of her shoulders. Removing an arrow, she placed it on Amori’s desk and then channeled chakra, tapping the shaft so that a bright blue seal formula shined for the naked eye to see. “This is a seal of my own creation that I made while studying under Jiraiya-sensei. It’s a long-distance Space-Time seal that allows me to teleport anywhere in the Elemental Countries where I’ve placed the beacon seal. This formula on my arrow shaft allows me to use my arrows as a conduit so that I can teleport more than just myself at any given time. It’s called the Bolting Arrow.

 

“If I want to ‘Bolt’, as I’ve dubbed it, I tap an arrow shaft before I shoot it to place the sealing formula with the specifics on my destination. I can only ‘Bolt’ to locations where I’ve placed the beacon seal. During the creation process, I made sure that only my chakra or chakra from one of my blood relatives would activate the seal.”

 

The Kazekage nodded and inspected the arrow on his desk. He didn’t know any fuuinjutsu besides the typical storage scroll and explosive tag, but just from a cursory glance, she was very serious about its capabilities. Straightening, he said, “Where and when have you placed a beacon seal in my office, Kuramoto-san?”

 

Ah. This was the war-starting part. “Well, on a previous visit from the Hokage…” She didn’t feel the need to explain the rest of that. “And where? On the underside of the chair I’m sitting on in blood ink.”

 

 _Kudos to Amori for not blowing up,_ Sora thought as she locked eyes with him. _I don’t even want to think about what would happen if this was the Raikage._ She shuddered to even imagine it. There would probably not be a Raikage office nor a Sora Kuramoto anymore.

 

All the Kazekage did was give her an unreadable look before sliding the arrow back across to her. She put it away immediately, not liking one of her prized possessions being handled by others.

 

The Kazekage sighed and crossed his arms. “I want to know what you’re here for, Kuramoto-san. And why you felt the need to take a poison from Lady Chiyō.”

 

She launched into the story of how she got there with Sasori finally speaking up to add to his recollection of events. After they were finished, the Kazekage sent Sasori out of the office with instructions to go to medical before he finally went home. He hesitated, but knew it was futile to argue, so he bowed and left. Amori rounded on Sora.

 

“What are your intentions with Suna?” he asked, though there wasn’t any malice or heat behind his words. It seemed, at least for the moment, that he was merely curious.

 

But Sora only heard the accusation. That’s she’d try to take advantage of Suna, or use her seals to invade the village, or something equally as preposterous. He was accusing her, _her_ , of betraying an ally. If Konoha taught anything, it was teamwork. And if Sora had learned _anything_ throughout her tenure as a ninja, it was that one did not betray their allies. Maybe she’d forgiven herself for her father, maybe she’d forgiven herself for the man she killed out of vengeance, and _maybe_ she’d forgiven herself for some of the lives she’d taken over the years, but she would _never_ , for the rest of her life, forgive herself for getting Korharu killed. Getting her best friend killed because she couldn’t see the obvious facade that Akio had been putting up. Sakumo-sensei _probably_ lived, but Korharu was dead. And all because she had abandoned one ally for another.

 

Akio might’ve once been the only person as close as a brother to her, but now that he was gone, she knew that Korharu Funaki had been the closest friend she’d ever had. For that matter, had she ever gotten the guts to find out, it might’ve gone further than that.

 

So for this man, Kazekage or no, to stand in front of her and accuse her of purposefully betraying an ally when not having been provoked, was one of the worst insults she’d ever received. (A small voice in the back of her mind told her he was just protecting his village, but she ignored it.)

 

Besides, Sasori, no matter that small amount of time she’d known him, was quickly becoming like a little brother. He was a lot like her, and he reminded her of what it was like to be that young and naïve and to not understand the grief you were drowning in. If at all possible, she didn’t want Sasori to have to wade through that alone. Sora knew she would’ve killed to have had someone that could’ve helped her when her mother died. Her father, too.

 

“Of course not!” Sora shouted, not giving two shits that she was yelling at Tetsunaka Amori, Third Kazekage. “I don’t betray allies, not unless they’ve already stabbed me in the back, and Konoha and Suna are, in fact, allies. Not to mention that Sasori, no matter how closed off he is or how cold he wants to appear to everyone, is sinking, and it would be a waste of not only a damn fine ninja but a great kid. So my ‘intentions with Suna’ are pretty damn straightforward.”

 

Tetsunaka Amori was a lot of things: strong, intelligent, observant, cautious; but one thing he couldn’t say he’d ever been was very caring. For his village, yes. For individuals, no. He wasn’t a monster and didn’t enjoy killing or war, but he wouldn’t shy away from them or go to the ends of the Earth to protect anyone. He didn’t have any living family and had never started one.

 

Watching this Konoha shinobi stand up for one of his soldiers so readily and so vehemently, it made him realize something: the one thing worse than fighting with allies was fighting without them. War was coming— the entirety of the Elemental Countries was a tinderbox soaked in gasoline. One misstep and the whole thing would burst into flames. The question wasn’t about _if_ , it was merely about _when_. The only question the Kazekage had was:

 

Who would be fighting whom?

 

The messenger hawk sent from the Kazekage to Hiruzen Sarutobi not an hour later ensured one thing: Suna would not be in the mood to chop down any trees.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! A little longer to update than I wanted, but well worth it.
> 
> No one saw that one coming, did they? I have to admit, I’m really happy with this chapter. I’m screwing over all of canon and rewriting the way I probably would’ve in the first place. The Third Shinobi World War will be all kinds of fucked up, believe me.
> 
> I’m also pretty sure this will end up a trilogy. If Promises Could Be Kept, A Promise Long Forgotten, and The Promised Land. I already have the basic timelines.
> 
> Get ready for characters that most of you have forgotten about to play big parts, and get ready for upcoming oh shit! moments. Kakashi is coming back, but there will be some angst. Or a lot. Just a warning.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, on to Twelve. I’m really enjoying writing this, and it’ll just get better from here. One thing I do want to point out now, though, is that there won’t be any Sora/Sasori. Not only do I not write romance very often, but Sasori is eleven. Sora is eighteen and too old for him. If both characters survive until Sasori is older, then maybe, but I haven’t decided what I will do with either of them for the long-term.
> 
> Get your heads out of the gutter.

 

_“Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others.” —Dostoevsky_

 

Twelve

 

Kakashi knew that no one around him could be even remotely normal, as illustrated by the various odd-balls that made up his previous teams: Obito, the only Uchiha that didn’t act like one; Rin, the moderator/medic/fangirl (?) that was still somehow fit for war; Minato-sensei, the ludicrously strong but compassionate teacher; Naruto, the equally as strong and equally as compassionate son with a penchant for crazy stunts and blitzing through unbelievable odds; Sakura, the fangirl-turned-very-scary-punch-your-lights-out-medic that was too similar to Tsunade for anyone’s tastes; Sasuke, the emotionally traumatized, revenge-obsessed, highly crazy Uchiha; Sai, the Root operative turned oddly-hilarious-yet-uncompromisingly-true-commentator; and of course himself, the socially inept asshole that can’t seem to keep anyone alive.

 

Well, that was a downer.

 

But all-in-all, Kakashi knew that anyone he was friends with couldn’t possibly be normal in any sense of the word. The prime example of this was Guy. Really. Enough said.

 

So when Jiraiya and his father were finally sober enough to speak clearly (and didn’t that take a while), Kakashi was reminded again why Jiraiya was underestimated so much. Especially at this point in time before he’d been named one of the Sannin. Before the Konoha Chuunin Exams that Team 7 participated in, Jiraiya could be underestimated by opponents that didn’t know him because of his ridiculous and crazy countenance, and ludicrously perverted ways. Now, though, he wasn’t nearly as well-known, and Kakashi wouldn’t be surprised if most ninja kind of over-looked him in favor of Orochimaru (who Kakashi had to keep reminding himself wasn’t evil yet), or Tsunade (who was just plain scary even without her usual matchstick temper).

 

The first thing Jiraiya said was: “Why the hell do you think Kiri makes trashy beer?”

 

God-fucking-damnit, Kakashi was surrounded by idiots.

 

Kakashi knew that he was going to have to tell Jiraiya about the whole time-travel thing if he wanted the man’s help, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fuck around a bit first.

 

Slapping a scowl on his face, Kakashi held up a bottle of Kiri’s lesser quality sakes and said, “This in and of itself is disgusting, but their beer would make anyone with any taste incinerate it on the spot. I mean, really, who the hell thinks that overloading the stuff with hops will make it taste good? Plus, the quality of the hops definitely leaves something to be desired. They don’t even age it long enough. Beer is already as bitter as piss, so why add more bitterness? I get that hops help the preservation, but my God! We’re shinobi! The stuff goes pretty damn fast.”

 

That absolutely dumb-struck look on Jiraiya’s face and the outright amusement on his father’s would be something he’d remember for a long time. Once he’d said his peace, he burst out laughing at the sheer hilarity of the conversation. While he wasn’t joking about Kiri’s beer, he was sure that the in-depth alcohol lecture was the picture of ridiculous when coming from a five-year-old.

 

Which is why he did it. Besides, his father was obviously trying his damnest not to laugh and Kakashi saw that as a win.

 

“Uh,” Jiraiya said. “Sakumo, I don’t think that’s your son.” He scratched his head and squinted. “Pretty damn good genjutsu, though.”

 

“I assure you that that is, in fact, Kakashi,” Sakumo bit out between snickers. Kakashi himself was just recovering from the laughing, but knew he’d need to talk to his father if he wanted to convince him to enlist Jiraiya’s help. One thing Kakashi had always liked about the Toad Sage was that, while Sarutobi was his former sensei, he wouldn’t go blabbing absolutely everything to the man. He could think for himself.

 

Which was great because Kakashi didn’t want to tell the Hokage right away. It’s not that he didn’t trust the Third, but the man already didn’t handle conflict that well, and even if Sarutobi believed him, the information wouldn’t be put to good use. And Danzō, of course. Danzō had spies everywhere, and who knew what the war hawk would do with all that future knowledge?

 

Not to mention that Kakashi didn’t really plan on using a whole lot of his future knowledge. When he went back in time, he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be able to change things because he’d heard the theory that time would always try to revert itself back to how it should be, but because he’d saved his father, he had no reason to believe that to be true. As far as Kakashi was concerned, the future could be completely rewritten without any of that ridiculous fate crap getting in the way. (And wasn’t that a relief? Anything that turned out how it had before was pretty much a bad thing.)

 

“Hey, Dad? Can I ask you something?” Kakashi asked and jerked his head toward the kitchen. His father quirked an eyebrow, but nodded. As soon as they were out of earshot of Jiraiya, he asked, “We need to tell Jiraiya.”

 

His father’s eyes widened slightly and he asked, “Why, exactly? This isn’t exactly something to be shouting from the mountaintops, is it?”

 

Kakashi shook his head, but gestured to himself. “My chakra is all kinds of fucked up. At the Academy I couldn’t even climb trees. My chakra was sluggish and unresponsive before becoming wild and untamable suddenly, like a damn had been opened. I researched it and found that I have a chakra imbalance; I have way too much spiritual energy compared to my physical energy, so I have shit control. I need Jiraiya to seal away some of my spiritual chakra.”

 

His father took that in stride and nodded, gesturing to Jiraiya. They both turned to look at the still slightly woozy man with varying expressions of amusement before turning back into the living room.

 

The following hour of explanation, reassurance, and insistence that the Hokage didn’t need to know yet was probably the longest of Kakashi’s abnormally long life. Even longer than explaining to his father because while he respected Jiraiya, and the man acted like a surrogate father to Naruto, he was never that close to the man, and it was odd trying to struggle through his clusterfuck of a life when most of it was highly personal and made him hate himself more with every retelling. Nonetheless, he had to explain or Jiraiya wouldn’t help him.

 

After it seemed like the man had grasped the basics of Kakashi’s situation, Jiraiya asked, “So, why exactly are you telling me this? I guess, crazily enough, that I believe you, but why would you tell me?”

 

“My chakra is a shit storm because of a spiritual energy imbalance and I need you to seal away some of it so that I can use my chakra again,” Kakashi said. Jiraiya furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation.

 

“I don’t know if I should do that,” he said.

 

“Why?”

 

Jiraiya was contemplating the problems with sealing away the kid’s spiritual energy. Typically, it wouldn’t be a huge problem because, while it would take him a good week to actually formulate the seal, it wasn’t outside his realm of expertise. Simple containment spiral with change and additions for specific spiritual energy or a time-release so the seal would adjust itself according to the user’s needs. But in this case, Kakashi told him that a seal was what sent him back in time.

 

A seal would not be able to just send memories back in time. Memories were intangible and seals could only deal with something tangible. Like thoughts. A seal could not read or direct thoughts because they were intangible things. Same with memories. Because the only jutsus or seals that could deal with the mind directly were Yamanaka clan techniques or something similar, that led Jiraiya to think that, theoretically, memories could be bound to a person’s spiritual energy, as Yamanakas have recently taken to doing, and that the seal could send the spiritual energy back in time to the recipient’s body.

 

That created a problem: by sealing away Kakashi’s excess spiritual energy, Jiraiya would be sealing away future memories, which would affect him in any number of disastrous ways. Kakashi could forget key parts of the future, he could forget instrumental events that shaped his personality, or even worse—he’d forget things in patches that would leave him with memories that made no sense.

 

With all the shit that Kakashi went through, that could cause him to go completely insane, which wouldn’t be good. So that left having Kakashi’s memories unbound from his spiritual energy, which would also be _very bad_.

 

Jiraiya voiced this opinion to Sakumo and his son, who then asked him to explain. “As far as I understand from Inochi Yamanaka, when memories are bound they become less emotionally significant. They’re easily recollected, and if they’re strong then they’ll still carry plenty of emotional significance, but they become, for lack of a better term, detached.”

 

Kakashi narrowed his eyes in thought as he processed this. “So you’re saying that my future memories are _dulled_?” His voice was high with incredulousness.

 

Jiraiya winced. “Yes,” he said with an apology in his tone. “If your memories are already so vivid that they can cause crippling nightmares, then I would hate to see what would happen if they were unbound. You said you were sent back right at the end of the battle with Madara and that you were dying; at the time, you wouldn’t have had any reason or time to sort through everything you experienced during the Fourth War or before. Unfortunately, that’s going to bite you in the ass now.”

 

Kakashi’s mind was spinning. _Seriously?_ he thought with anger. Great, he was already barely holding on to his sanity, and now he was being told that if he wanted to use his chakra before he was thirty, then he’d have to relive everything he’d ever gone through with his emotions running high as a kite? All the loss and hate and anger and depression and every other shitty thing he’d done was going to be pushed to forefront of his mind again? He couldn’t fucking believe it.

 

 _I’m going to kick Naruto’s ass to Iwa and back if I ever see him again,_ he thought angrily.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Sakumo cleared his throat. “Not to disrupt the problem solving here, but the only person who could unbind your memories would be a part of the Yamanaka Clan and highly loyal to the Hokage, not to mention probably wouldn’t believe the whole time-travel thing.”

 

Jiraiya just shrugged and said, “Actually, the Yamanaka would be the most likely to believe it because they could go through your mind to confirm it. And I know Inochi well enough that he would probably be quiet about it. It’s not like you have any other choice.”

 

Sakumo agreed, but Kakashi wanted to just bash his head in. It was just his fucking luck that he’d have to do this, and of course he’d have to let another person know about his time-travel, which was getting old. While he didn’t care for preserving the timeline, that didn’t mean he wanted everyone to know he had an advantage so they could purposefully change things. He was sure that he’d screw everything up beyond recognition within a year or so.

 

He was kind of hoping for that, anyway.

 

“How are we going to approach Inochi?” Kakashi asked. He knew Inochi was a clan head, at least until his son, the third member of the famous Ino-Shika-Cho combination, took over the position. Clan heads had a lot more than their ninja careers to deal with and it didn’t seem like just anyone would be able to just knock on his door for a few spots of tea and a memory unbinding. That was time consuming, and not to mention that it was highly personal and usually a very private affair.

 

His father cleared his throat. “I have an appointment anytime within the next week with Inochi on orders of the Hokage. We could deal with it then.”

 

Kakashi knew there was more to it than that, but decided he shouldn’t push since he had plenty of shit on his plate at the moment. He’d talk to his father about it later. Instead, he nodded and said, “Great, it’s settled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take a shower and pass out.”

 

With that, Kakashi stood up and stretched before heading into his bedroom and shutting the door. He dug around in his drawers for a set of comfortable pajamas, something he hadn’t had the luxury of for years, before climbing into his bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything he still had to do.

 

After unbinding his memories and sealing away some of his spiritual energy, he still had to regain control of his chakra, hand seal speed, and eventually, though not for a least a couple of years, get used to serious chakra form and nature manipulation. He wouldn’t be able to do Chidori without…

 

Fuck.

 

He realized that he hadn’t ever truly completed the Chidori. There was a reason that it couldn’t be performed by anyone other than an Uchiha: as it was, only the Sharingan could complete the jutsu. When Obito had given him the Sharingan, the Chidori was completed… for him. The jutsu was still technically incomplete because it couldn’t effectively be used without it, even by him. The human eye simply couldn’t keep up with the Chidori’s speed, so the user couldn’t see a counterattack in time to dodge it. If he ever wanted to use his signature jutsu again, he’d have to find a way to either slow the jutsu down, regain the Sharingan (not happening), or find some other way to detect enemies extremely quickly other than sight. While sound and smell could detect enemies, those senses couldn’t keep track of the opponent at such speeds.

 

First step, though: be able to perform an _incomplete_ Chidori before worrying about completing it.

 

Thinking of the Sharingan brought him to Obito. He said that he’d meet Obito at the bridge tomorrow at noon, and he was honestly looking forward to it. During Kakashi’s first life, they’d been classmates, teammates, rivals, and even enemies, but Kakashi had never really gotten to know Obito. Yeah, he’d gone to the Memorial Stone every day to talk to the Uchiha, but it was really the idealized, post-mortem, guilty kind of knowing and Kakashi was slightly ashamed to say he didn’t know Obito Uchiha very well at all other than what everyone knew of him.

 

Kakashi had a feeling that Minato-sensei had been a lot closer to the Uchiha’s black sheep than he let on, and that that was part of the reason he’d agreed to take Obito and him on was the hope that the two would even each other out.

 

If Minato had seen Obito torture him, or Kakashi fight Obito to the death, he might realize why that wouldn’t have ever happened. Either way, the past was in the future, and he might as well try to get some sleep before he met his ex-enemy/ex-teammate/possible future teammate. (Ugh. Time-travel would never stop being confusing.)

 

The whole ‘atoning for one’s sins’ had always seemed very unrealistic in Kakashi’s opinion, as he didn’t think a person could ever truly erase whatever atrocities they’d committed, but he hoped that one day he’d at least forgive himself for them. And even though he didn’t believe he could wipe away his past, that didn’t mean he didn’t owe some people more than they would ever know.

 

Starting tomorrow, he had a lot of making up to do.

 

X.x.X.x.X

 

When Kakashi woke up well after dawn, he marveled at the fact that he’d had an entire night of uninterrupted sleep. That hadn’t happened since… actually, he couldn’t really remember the last time. It was probably sometime during the first few months of passing his Genin team, and that had been over five years ago. He was always woken by either nightmares or people trying to kill him.

 

Was it sad that he couldn’t decide which was worse?

 

After digging through his closet, Kakashi found something that he hadn’t thought about in decades: the green and navy scarf that his father had given to him when he was a baby. The first time, he’d never had the chance to ask why his father had gotten it for him, but now that he thought about it, he decided to ask. It was, after all, his first ‘mask’ so to speak. He’d worn it over top of his regular mask during his Academy days because it was a gift from his father. In a fit of sentimentality, Kakashi wrapped it around his face before he left his room to the kitchen.

 

The clock above the stove read 10:07 and Kakashi was shocked. He didn’t think he’d ever slept that late in his entire life, at least not since he was… oh wait. Duh. He was five physically, so his body needed a lot more sleep than he was used to. Actually, exhaustion might’ve been a part of why he hadn’t dreamt last night.

 

Entering the kitchen, he found his father and Jiraiya sitting at the island nursing cups of tea. Both of them seemed to have their head cradled in their hands and Kakashi knew that they had killer hangovers from their overhaul of the liquor cabinet yesterday. It was a testament to their hungover-ness (was that a word?) that neither of them knew Kakashi was in the room until he came up right behind them.

 

For some reason, Kakashi had never enjoyed tea. He thought it tasted like hot piss, the exact opposite of beer just without the alcohol. He accepted it if it was offered because there was no reason to complain about something he wasn’t going to drink even if he liked it.

 

No, Kakashi was a coffee kind of person. Admittedly, he didn’t drink it black because of how bitter it was even if he claimed to so he’d look like more of a badass. (He’d only told that to Guy during one of their ridiculous challenges.) So as soon as he stepped foot in the kitchen, he turned on the percolator and filled it with his favorite beans: the 9th Degree of Darkness from Old Crown, a local coffee shop that roasted their own beans in-house every Friday.

 

He’d discovered Old Crown when he’d started ANBU and had gone there ever since. He was elated that his father seemed to like the shop, though he couldn’t recall that little detail from the last time around. As soon as it was done brewing, he added a teaspoon of sugar and just a little half-and-half to combat the very bold brew. Going to sit on the opposite side of the island to his dad and Jiraiya, he said, “Regretting the alcohol yet?” in a teasing tone.

 

Jiraiya groaned dramatically. “Don’t even remind me, brat. I’m going to be feeling this one the rest of the day.” He took another gulp of his tea before letting his head bang against the table. “And it’s only ten.”

 

Sakumo just groaned in agreement.

 

Kakashi snickered and let a comfortable silence fall. The Hatake’s small kitchen was awash in early morning light and it made him oddly optimistic when he was typically highly negative. (Most of his life did warrant that.) He was looking forward to training with Obito, even though he wouldn’t be making any progress, and he was hoping he’d be able to eventually gain the Uchiha’s trust so that Kakashi could help Obito with his training more regularly. While Minato was a great teacher, the blonde couldn’t get to anything very advanced because the constant bickering between him and Obito made it impossible to get past the basics, not to mention the war. So if Kakashi could speed that up, then all the more likely that Obito wouldn’t die in the future, Kannabi Bridge mission or not.

 

As Kakashi chucked back the last dregs of his coffee, which garnered odd looks from his dad and Jiraiya, he tugged his scarf back up over his mask. Turning to his dad, he asked, “Hey, Dad. Where did you get this scarf?”

 

The question seemed to startle his father, who choked on his tea and coughed loudly. “Um, your mother bought that once she found out she’d be having a boy.”

 

“I… This is from my mother?” Kakashi asked quietly. He was somewhat shocked. He’d been a baby when his mother had died the first time and his father either didn’t have or didn’t keep any pictures of her, so he didn’t even know what she looked like. Not to mention that he hadn’t really cared the first time.

 

Sakumo got a far-eyed look, as if he was thinking about something long ago. “She swore up and down the wall that any child of hers would instinctually want to cover their face, so she bought this scarf thinking that the colors were pretty but muted so they’d befit the child of two ninjas.”

 

 _She was right,_ Kakashi thought as he fingered the sturdy material. If he had to pick a favorite color it would probably be navy blue or black, and the green was muted enough that it didn’t remind him of Guy, so it was fine. It looked good, was really comfortable, and he liked the colors, so he thought he’d wear it at least until he graduated. Which, luckily for his sanity, wasn’t very far off.

 

Glancing at the clock, Kakashi still had an hour and a half until he had to meet Obito, so he dropped his mug in the sink, rechecked for all of his weapons, and ran a cursory eye over the kitchen, mostly out of habit. He nodded to his father and Jiraiya before heading outside to peruse the village for a while until noon. He might even get to the bridge early just to pull a Team 7 and see what Obito was up to. That is, if Obito was even there. With his reputation for lateness, Kakashi really doubted it.

 

Compared to Konoha before it was destroyed by Pain, the village was more muted, though not unlively. There was an undercurrent of nervousness and anticipation that acted like a weight on the usual everyday activities, mostly in the way people interacted with each other. The civilians avoided the ninjas like the plague, even Kakashi, who was only in the Academy. Looking so much like his father probably had something to do with it.

 

Unless people were travelling in groups, no one really talked to each other, but instead herded to the side of the street like the middle was more dangerous or something. (It actually was, but typically civilians didn’t think like that.) Kakashi knew that this behavior was because of the looming war, but he felt like he was missing something because this was even more paranoid than Konoha was the first time. His father had warned him that the Third War might be sparked because of whatever his mission was, so Kakashi guessed that it was because of that.

 

The day was overcast but not raining, and Kakashi was inwardly glad that it wasn’t bright and sunny outside. He really wasn’t in the mood for a clear blue sky or an optimistic sun at the moment, so while he might prefer rain, the clouds were appreciated.

 

“Kakashi?” a woman’s voice said from behind him. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

 

As soon as he turned around he realized why: Mikoto Uchiha, one of Kushina’s close friends, was walking with her now-boyfriend Fugaku. Kakashi knew that Sasuke’s parents had gotten married a lot earlier than most of their generation because of Uchiha Clan Elders pressuring them, but he was kind of surprised that Mikoto really recognized him. Minato was only somewhat-friends with Sakumo, through Jiraiya, and he and Kushina weren’t even close to dating yet, so it didn’t seem like something Kushina would mention to her friends.

 

Unless Kakashi changed something already, which was more likely than not.

 

“Hello, Uchiha-sama,” Kakashi greeted with a nod. Mikoto’s father was the current Clan Head after all, and it wouldn’t do to insult her, or more likely, Fugaku. That man was more immersed in Clan politics than anyone Kakashi had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

 

Surprisingly, it was Fugaku who spoke. “How are you, Kakashi?” He seemed to genuinely want to know, not just offering a stiff, required inquiry like he was known for doing.

 

It was downright weird. Shaking his head slightly, Kakashi answered, “Well, thank you. I’m happy my father’s home.” Which was as true as anything. He was even happier now that his father wasn’t on the brink of mental collapse.

 

That seemed to make Fugaku perk up slightly, though he hid it well. Kakashi was just better at distinguishing micro-emotions because of ANBU training. “Tell your father that we’re all glad he made it back.”

 

 _Really? He’s trying to get in my father’s good graces through me? Over this?_ Kakashi was about to snap at Fugaku, future Clan Head or not, when he got a closer look at the teen. While the compliment was most likely pretty empty, Fugaku seemed genuinely sad about Sakumo’s teammates, which once again startled Kakashi.

 

When he thought about it more, though, he realized something he should have a lot sooner. Just like Minato, Fugaku and the rest of their generation was still thoroughly inexperienced. The Third War hadn’t sparked yet and they were too young to have fought in the Second War, so the relatively miniscule amount of battle they’d seen was not only isolated but not very gruesome compared to what would come. They were naïve, more naïve than Kakashi. (Wasn’t that hilarious to think about?)

 

So maybe Fugaku was manipulative and cold and dangerously cunning in the future, but now he was still pretty innocent and however he acted now would be more reminiscent of who he could’ve been. Clan politics probably turned this Fugaku into the Fugaku of the future that planned a coup d’état.

 

“I will,” Kakashi said absently, still observing the fifteen-year-old.

 

It was still kind of odd seeing all of these people so young again. Jiraiya had looked pretty much the same for a long time, and his father looked just like he remembered (obviously), but Minato and the adults of that generation… it was weird seeing them as teenagers. Most of them were only barely Jounins. Minato was a Jounin, but from the vests that Mikoto and Fugaku were wearing, Mikoto was still a Chuunin. Though that would probably change here soon.

 

“Where are you headed?” Mikoto asked Kakashi to break the silence.

 

Kakashi gestured toward the bridge. “I told Obito that I’d meet him at that new bridge over by the Academy at noon. We’re going to train.”

 

Mikoto smiled and said, “Really? You’ve got about an hour until then, don’t you? How about you come back with us to the Uchiha District and you can grab Obito now? If you wait, he’ll probably be late knowing that kid.”

 

Uh… “Sure…” he said. Really, how was he supposed to answer that? Kakashi hadn’t ever talked to any Uchiha save Obito until he’d gotten the Sharingan, and those weren’t friendly conversations anyway. Even when Kakashi got to know Kushina better, they hadn’t talked about her friends but occasionally, mostly just because he was hearing a conversation about who was injured in the field.

 

He walked alongside the couple for a few minutes until Mikoto spoke up. “When will you graduate the Academy?”

 

Kakashi actually had to think about that. His father had committed seppuku two months after the Mission from Hell, as he’d dubbed it, and vaguely remembered graduating something like six months later. He thought it was late spring, maybe April or May. He said so to Mikoto.

 

“Will you be put on a Genin team or be apprenticed?” Fugaku asked.

 

Even with future knowledge, Kakashi wasn’t entirely sure. Since things wouldn’t go exactly as they had last time, hypothetically he could get any of the current Jounins as a sensei, or even be put with other Genins almost four years older than him. Honestly, he highly doubted it. No team would work with him because of his age, and Minato was the most experienced of the young Jounins, so Kakashi still suspected that he’d get the Namikaze again. “Probably apprenticed,” is what he told Fugaku.

 

The teen rubbed his chin like he had a beard even though he didn’t even have stubble and made the classic ‘hn’ noise that the Uchiha were known for. Luckily Kakashi was well-versed in Uchiha-ese.

 

“Probably Minato Namikaze if I had to hazard a guess.” Fugaku glanced over at him with slight surprise, probably since not many knew the Uchiha well enough to interpret their different grunts. Honestly, it was ridiculous that they did it at all because it caused so many miscommunications that it wasn’t even funny.

 

“Why do you say that?” Mikoto said, jumping in. Oddly enough, the Uchiha women that Kakashi had met never grunted like their male counterparts did.

 

“Well,” Kakashi drawled, tipping his head up toward the sky. Dark gray storm clouds were starting to roll in, casting an ominous feeling over the whole village. It seemed like it was about to rain soon and he pursed his lips. “Namikaze-san is the most experienced Jounin that I know of, not to mention that he’s been asking to teach for God knows how long now.”

 

Mikoto and Fugaku nodded knowingly and they all fell into a comfortable silence as they approached the Uchiha District. Its high wooden walls that shut out the rest of the world always seemed imposing when Kakashi was a kid, but now it was only pitiable. The Uchiha, a founding clan of Konoha, was both being shut out and shutting themselves out from the very village they were supposed to be a part of. The clan, which so desperately tried to claw for power, was feared by everyone but loved by none. Many of its own members disliked the clan, especially the lower class ones that were tossed aside because they didn’t acquire the Sharingan.

 

If there was one clan Kakashi didn’t want to be a part of, it was the Uchiha. In some ways, he didn’t entirely blame Sasuke for how he turned out. That clan was truly damned.

 

As he said goodbye to Fugaku and Mikoto, he hoped that their clan could escape the fate it had the last time around. Maybe, just maybe, the Uchihas wouldn’t end up extinct.

 

It sounded like a pipe dream even to Kakashi.

 

After he’d set off to Obito’s house, Mikoto turned to her boyfriend and they locked eyes for a moment before she said, “How old is he again?”

 

Fugaku furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought five, but that doesn’t seem right. You think he’s small for his age? Maybe seven? Either way, he’s like a mini-Sakumo.”

 

Mikoto shook her head. “He reminds me exactly of Kaiya.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got some kid there, Sakumo,” Jiraiya told him as soon as Kakashi left.

 

Sakumo ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. He knew that all too well and it wasn’t likely that it would change anytime soon. Not only was it downright crazy how Kakashi acted, even if Sakumo knew about the time-travel, but how he made absolutely no sound. Sakumo hadn’t really noticed it until this morning when Kakashi just appeared in front of them and started making coffee. Granted, they had horrendous hangovers, still did, but even in all of Kakashi’s genius he’d never been that quiet, especially instinctually. Sakumo had been drunk before and still easily heard his son move around the house.

 

He honestly wasn’t sure what to do with Kakashi. It’s not like he wouldn’t help him out with whatever he needed help doing because he would, but it was overwhelming, the whole ‘the fate of Konoha is partly on your shoulders’. It wore on a person, especially him since he was already screwed up. After that shitshow of a mission, he came back to whatever the hell he wanted to call Kakashi’s time-travel business.

 

He was only twenty-five and he still felt too old for this shit. Ugh.

 

Suddenly, Jiraiya clapped him on the back, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. “Think about it this way, Sakumo. At least—”

 

Jiraiya was cut off by an ANBU materializing in the window of his kitchen. In a monotone the ANBU said, “The Hokage requires both of your presences immediately in his office. This is considered S-class priority.” Just as quickly as he came, he disappeared in a swirl of leaves.

 

Sakumo glanced at Jiraiya before they took off toward the Hokage Tower. They leapt across rooftops with chakra-enhanced speed, vaulted in the open window of the Tower as they flared their chakra, and pulled off a quick salute to Sarutobi before standing at attention. Right away, the Hokage said, “At ease.”

 

“What’s going on Sensei?” Jiraiya spoke up first. “What would be of S-class priority?”

 

Sarutobi sighed and Sakumo noticed that, for once, the old man didn’t have his trademark pipe. In fact, the Hokage’s desk was clear of everything save a small, lone scroll that looked entirely too innocent lying there by itself. For some reason, it gave Sakumo a bad feeling, though he couldn’t say why if asked.

 

When most ninja were in the Hokage’s office, they were nervous or fidgety, but the more seasoned Jounins eventually got used to the tense atmosphere. It was obvious that the messenger who brought the scroll was not one of these people. The boy kept shifting from foot to foot and flickering his eyes across the room looking at everything and nothing at the same time. Sakumo might’ve felt a little bad for the kid, but he was too worried about whatever the Hokage called them there for to give the messenger much thought.

 

Luckily for the Chuunin that spotted the hawk, he wouldn’t be the one giving Sakumo the news.

 

The Third Hokage sighed again. “You’re going to want to sit down for this,” he said wearily. “It’s good and bad news. Admittedly more good than bad, but probably not for long.”

 

 _How perfectly vague and cryptic,_ Sakumo thought sarcastically. He didn’t voice this opinion, however, and sat down with Jiraiya.

 

“This morning at 09:00 hours, we received a scroll from Suna’s fastest hawk with a triple white band, S-class. After disabling a myriad of blood seals, this is how the missive read:

 

“ _Hokage-sama, earlier this morning a shinobi claiming to be of Konoha was admitted to Suna’s hospital after being accosted by a Suna nin. She was admitted with a shoulder and side injury, minor chakra exhaustion, and various cuts and bruises. She claimed to be Sora Kuramoto, a Jounin of Konoha. Within minutes of myself and Lady Chiyō leaving the room, she mysteriously disappeared, taking a poison on Chiyō’s person with her. Not thirty minutes later, Kuramoto-san appeared directly in my office with a Chuunin and Genin of mine, Sasori and Komushi. She demanded medical treatment for the Genin before she would go on to explain her seal, the Bolting Arrow. This conversation was held in complete private, as Kuramoto-san erected multiple privacy seals beforehand._

 

“ _I would like to know how such a seal was placed in my office or inside Suna’s wards, but after Kuramoto-san’s actions regarding my ninja, I think I will be able to convince the Council to re-issue Suna’s treaty with Konoha. If there is war, which seems inevitable at this point, Suna is your ally._

 

“ _Sincerely, Tetsunaka Amori, Third Kazekage_.”

 

Silence reigned for a full minute after the Hokage was finished. No one quite knew what to say. For that minute of quiet, everyone in the room was staring at something, probably trying to digest the new information. Sarutobi's lips had thinned into a hard line, Jiraiya was trying and failing to keep the shock off his face, and Sakumo was staring blankly at the morning sun that slanted across the room, bisecting the Hokage’s large mahogany desk. The White Fang was intently watching the dust motes as they danced through the air in front of him because he wasn’t quite ready to accept what he’d just heard. Jiraiya was the one to break the brief silence.

 

“Suna’s on our side?”

 

Leave it to Jiraiya to be as blunt as humanly possible.

 

The Hokage sighed. “It seems that way, yes. As I said, this is good news, however the implications might not be…” Both of the seasoned Jounins knew what that meant.

 

Just another catalyst to start the Third Shinobi World War. While it was great that Suna would be on their side, no one particularly wanted to go to war anyway. Not that it was really optional at this point. The Elemental Countries had been a powder keg for years and it was really only a matter of time until it exploded.

 

When Sakumo spoke it was slightly scratchy and very tight, but otherwise he did an impeccable job of keeping the tremble out of it. “Sora is alive? In Suna?” He received a weary nod from Sarutobi.

 

Even though Sakumo didn’t know any of the details, he knew without a doubt that Sora must’ve tried to Bolt even with badly drained chakra reserves. She’d told him before that it was highly dangerous to Bolt like that and that theoretically it could pull her apart, or scatter pieces of her across the world, or just outright kill her from chakra exhaustion. She did know for a fact that it wouldn’t complete the transportation and that she’d be, at the very least, dropped off at some random beacon seal in between her location and the target beacon.

 

From what little he knew, he guessed the latter theory had been correct, and because of her low chakra, the jutsu dumped her in Suna where the nearest beacon seal outside of Iwa was. Whatever the hell had happened, he was just glad that she was alive.

 

He couldn’t say the same of Korharu. And Akio was… well Akio had a target on his back, and if Sakumo (or any Konoha ninja because of the Hokage) ever saw the ex-ANBU again, he’d make sure that Hanari didn’t have teeth to lie through anymore. Or a throat to scream.

 

Sakumo knew that it wasn’t healthy to think like that, but he was so pissed he didn’t give a damn. He wouldn’t let anyone know he was so angry, but he’d let it simmer, put it on a backburner until he saw the bastard again and then he’d show Akio just why his moniker was the White Fang. The mission was still an open wound and Akio’s betrayal had just rubbed salt in it.

 

Keeping his darker thoughts to himself, he asked, “Is Sora heading for Konoha now?”

 

“I don’t have any further details, but from what I’ve gathered, Kuramoto-san seems oddly protective of the Suna nins she saved. You’d know better than me Sakumo, but I doubt she’ll ditch while one is still in the hospital,” the Hokage said in a tone that implied just how he felt about that. While Konoha was known for their looser interpretations of the Shinobi Rules, that didn’t mean it was good to form significant relationships with ninja from other villages. It almost always ended badly.

 

Sakumo knew his student than almost anyone, and he was sure that something crazy must’ve caught her attention for her to stay in a possibly hostile village longer than absolutely needed. He wasn't sure the extent of her injuries after she Bolted, but he didn't think they could be minimal and at the very least she’d be really low on chakra. So, whoever she was staying for had to be special.

 

Sora hadn’t been quite the same after her father was killed. She never said anything to Sakumo or Korharu, but the mission that she took immediately after the funeral changed her in some way because as soon as she came back, she wasn't the same. Sakumo had been around for a while and he had his suspicions about what she'd done while she was gone.

 

“No, if she stayed in Suna to save this person, she wouldn't leave until she knew he was okay,” Sakumo said, which just garnered looks from both Jiraiya and the Hokage. The implications there were anything but subtle.

 

Sarutobi turned his attention to Jiraiya. “Have you gotten anything from your spies? I'm sure that Iwa isn’t staying quiet about everything that's happened and I want to be ready for anything they throw at us. I don't think that they'd try anything too drastic, but I won't bank the village on it.”

 

Sakumo and Jiraiya shared a brief look, but in that moment something significant two men, something that solidified what Sakumo already knew. The Toad Sage faced his former sensei and said, “Nothing interesting has come up recently, but we can't let our guard down. We’ll have to keep an eye out.”

 

The Hatake let out a small, inaudible breath. Kakashi’s secret was safe for now, and that was enough for Sakumo. Now they just had to survive the time spent with Inochi. And save the world. _Someone please put me out of my misery._

 

* * *

 

As Kakashi expected, Obito was still sleeping. They were still really young, so it honestly wasn't that surprising, not to mention that Obito didn't have any contention with his family yet. Because of his young age, and the lack of Itachi’s genius hanging over his head, Obito’s parents still thought he could be the perfect Uchiha. (It was so fitting that Obito's Sharingan would eventually become one of the strongest the Uchiha Clan had ever produced. Payback’s a bitch.)

 

Kakashi had never met Obito’s parents, but as he knocked on the door, he was irrationally nervous. By the time he'd been put on Team 7, Obito was already the infamous Black Sheep and therefore lived by himself, already having been kicked out by his parents. It didn't sit well that the people he was about to meet were the ones to disown their own son. It was insulting to people like Naruto, Sasuke, and Lee, whose families were taken from them without so much as a by-your-leave; and in Naruto and Lee’s case without ever even knowing them.

 

The door was pulled open by a tall, dark-haired man with the typical black eyes of the Uchiha. He was at least six-foot-two with broad shoulders and muscular arms that were crossed in front of him. His face was neutral in a way that only ninjas could truly pull off, so Kakashi was right in assuming that at least one of Obito’s parents were ninjas.

 

“Can I help you?” the man asked gruffly.

 

“My name is Kakashi Hatake and I was going to train with Obito today,” Kakashi replied politely. He wondered if this man was going to let inside or just get Obito. He'd be completely fine with the latter.

 

“Come in,” Obito’s father said as he swung the door wide. “My wife would kill me if I left you out on the doorstep.”

 

Kakashi suppressed a snicker. It didn't matter who you were—happy wife means happy life. He'd seen Kushina angry enough times to know that even if he'd never been married.

 

The inside of the Uchiha’s house was surprisingly homey. In fact, it was nothing like Kakashi assumed a stick-up-the-ass Uchiha would even step foot in. The first area he walked into was a foyer area with a closet that opened to the left into a large and open front room. A blue and white striped couch stood against the wall of windows looking out onto the front lawn that was, surprisingly, not immaculate. It was presentable, but nothing pristine like he always imagine it would have to be. Then again, this area of the Uchiha District was tucked away, and he assumed that Mikoto’s house was nothing like this.

 

“Who was it, Masaru?” a woman asked as she entered the front living area through a double acting door *****. The living area that Kakashi was standing in was attached to the dining area with a table that sat four.

 

“Kakashi Hatake. He’s here to get Obito for training,” the previously-named Masaru replied.

 

Obito’s mother was a pleasant woman, as Kakashi came to find out. She introduced herself as Naoko Uchiha, Mikoto’s cousin on her father’s side, and he was coming to learn in the short few minutes that he’d spent with her that she practically embodied what he thought of as a mother (though he only had Kushina (ish) and people like Inoichi and Shukaku’s wives to go by). She was stern when it came to her son, but there was no doubting the fierce undercurrent of love and protectiveness to her. Not that that stopped her front whapping Obito over the head when he complained about it being too early to wake up.

 

Naoko had all the looks of an Uchiha, that was for sure. Her black hair was straight and went to about mid-back, and her black eyes were smart and calculating. A few times Kakashi had said something to her while waiting for Obito and found her staring at him, and after that he tried to dumb down his sentences a little bit, realizing how impossibly articulate he must seem for a five-year-old. She had a petite frame and was only about five-foot-three, but either way she was not someone to mess with. She moved with the deliberate grace only a ninja would have, and Kakashi was correct in assuming that Obito’s parents were ninjas. Active ones, if the Jounin vests laid over the back of chairs suggested anything.

 

It didn’t take long for Obito to throw some clothes on once his mother finally whacked him hard enough to wake up. He came bounding down the stairs about fifteen minutes after Kakashi arrived with his usual exuberance and large smiles.

 

“When will you be back?” Naoko asked her son as he tried to dart out the door. She crouched down as she said it and held firmly onto his collar until he huffed, but relaxed.

 

“Probably in a couple hours, maybe three,” Kakashi answered, glancing at Naoko.

 

The Uchiha matriarch glanced at him with that curious and slightly confused expression again, but nodded her head nonetheless and repeated to Obito to be home on time and not talk to strangers. “Yeah!” Obito shouted in response as he grabbed Kakashi’s hand and yanked him out the door, running the entire way to the training grounds.

 

Training Ground 13 was situated as close to the regular workings of the village as possible without being overtly dangerous. The only people that really used it were Academy students because anyone of any rank whatsoever would probably be likely to damage something nearby if they overpowered or misused a jutsu. Not to mention that the civies liked this training ground to look nice since it was in easy view of foot-traffic.

 

As soon as they got there, Obito pulled out a set of blunted training kunai to show to Kakashi. “My dad bo-bought these for me be-before I started th-the Academy,” he explained sagely, as if this fact was immensely important. Kakashi slid his real kunai from his leg holster and got ready. If he was going to get used to being a kid, he’d have to train all of his skills and reflexes.

 

Obito wasn’t bad, but Kakashi could tell from his stance that his throwing arm wasn’t drawing back far enough and he wasn’t putting his body behind the throw. As such young kids, they simply didn’t have the arm strength it would take to throw a kunai effectively without their full body weight behind it. Not to mention that it always yielded more penetration and accuracy if a person put real weight behind their throw. So, Kakashi gave his first bit of wisdom to Obito.

 

“Pull your arm back farther and twist your body like this to put weight behind it,” Kakashi explained as he set up to throw his own kunai. Cocking his left arm back, he did a mock throw to test his physical capabilities before lobbing the knife as hard and accurate as he could. It hit the target just slightly right of center with a solid _thunk_ and embedded itself a good couple inches deep. Obito gaped as he then proceeded to throw the rest of his kunai just as accurately.

 

“Woooooah. You-you’re amazing!” Obito stuttered, his mouth not quite keeping up with his brain. “Show me! Show me!”

 

They spent the next hour trying to perfect Obito’s aim, which Kakashi had to admit got a lot better as they went along. Obito was hitting the target every time now and getting a lethal chest hit five out of ten times. It was a decent start, and one that Kakashi could work with in the future. Eventually, though, Obito started to get tired and even Kakashi was winding down. Though he could push himself to exhaustion if the need arose, his five-year-old body was not only unused to that, but it would be detrimental to his growth to exhaust himself every time he trained, which bothered him a lot more than it should.

 

Whatever anyone said about him otherwise, Kakashi was completely fucked up. Plain and simple. And to get away from the worst of his nightmares or the worst of his missions, he trained himself into utter exhaustion so that he wouldn’t dream, couldn’t even think straight. He pushed himself to the physical limit to get away from the people and places that haunted him, to forget about the children he’d killed, to hide from the accusing faces of the few people willing to be around him.

 

Now that he was so young, he couldn’t throw a kunai accurately without way too much concentration for his standards, and his taijutsu was so unbelievably horrendous that it would be impossible to train to exhaustion. There wasn’t anyone he could even spar with for a while, at least until he was apprenticed, hopefully to Minato. The amount of stress that was building up just because he couldn’t train was starting to bother him.

 

After a short break where Obito gushed about his awesome throwing skills, they both tried to climb trees with their chakra. Kakashi was out-right failing because of his chakra imbalance, but Obito, on the other hand, just couldn’t seem to figure out how to keep his chakra steady when walking upwards. Kakashi tried his best to teach him, but it was kind of hard to convince Obito of his knowledge when he couldn’t even do it. After about fifteen more minutes of no progress, Obito got frustrated and flopped down at the base of the tree with a put-out expression on his face.

 

“I’m not ever gonna get it,” Obito pouted, sniffing.

 

Kakashi sat down about a foot from him and leaned back against the tree trunk. “Why do you say that?”

 

“We’ve pra-practiced for two days a-and I can’t d-do it,” he mumbled.

 

Thinking back, Kakashi remembered that even when Obito joined Team 7, his chakra control was relatively bad. It wasn’t atrocious like Naruto’s since he _had_ been trained, at least to some degree, but his water-walking was usually shaky and his Fire Style techniques would waste quite a bit of chakra if they were bigger than Genin size. So chakra control seemed to be one of Obito’s biggest weaknesses, and Kakashi tried to rack his brain for anything that could help him get a better hold on his chakra, faster. He was bouncing ideas around in his head when he sensed someone’s very familiar chakra approach the edge of the training grounds.

 

Honestly, Kakashi was waiting for Minato to seek him out considering what the blonde had witnessed the day his father returned. For a while, he just assumed that Minato was being polite and letting him have time with his father, but now that he was out and about, he guessed that Minato thought this a great opportunity.

 

“Hey, Kakashi,” Minato said once he’d appeared in the clearing. He eyed the targets that Kakashi nailed with kunai before glancing at Obito’s, probably noting the disparity between the two. “Who’re you training with?”

 

Obito glanced up at Minato and, seeing the Jounin vest, presently forgot his pouting in favor of shooting to his feet and smiling that face-splitting smile he was so known for. “I’m Obito Uchiha. Who are you?”

 

Minato chuckled at Obito’s cheerfulness before replying, “Minato Namikaze. What were you guys doing?”

 

Kakashi didn’t really want to have this conversation, but it seemed like it was inevitable. The least he could do was get Obito a real teacher before he had to lie his way through the interaction with Minato.

 

The problem wasn’t that Kakashi didn’t plan on telling Minato about time-traveling because he absolutely was going to. Some things that Madara did the first time would _have_ to happen again because they were integral to the madman’s plans, such as the Kyuubi attack and the Uchiha Massacre. While they’d go down differently, they would have to happen somehow. With Minato eventually being Hokage, or at least one of the highest ranking Jounins, he would have to know about those things. Kakashi also wasn’t worried about Naruto and the rest of his generation not existing, because he’d come to term with the fact that they wouldn’t.

 

It would be absolutely impossible for the exact same sperm to fertilize the exact same egg for all of Naruto’s generation to be the exact same person they were before. Not to mention that different experiences and lack or gaining of parents, friends, or family would all influence how they turned out. As much as Kakashi loved Naruto and Sasuke and Sakura, those people as he knew them wouldn’t exist. That’s not to say that some wouldn’t be similar because it might as well be a law of nature that Nara men were the laziest people on the planet, Uchiha pretty much had collective sticks up their asses, and Uzumakis were loud and brash and fiercely loyal.

 

So Minato would know, but he just couldn’t yet. Kakashi would rather form at least some foundation of a relationship before dropping a bomb like that. It would make it easier for everyone if Minato accepted the information because he trusted Kakashi instead of banking on the word of Jiraiya. Not to mention that Kakashi just really wanted to spend some time with Minato without the future hanging over their heads. Especially since Minato would eventually learn about a son he would no longer have with Kushina.

 

But right now Kakashi needed to focus on what was right in front of him. “Climbing trees with chakra,” he told Minato. “But we’re both having trouble.”

 

“I think I might have a few ideas,” Minato said as he glanced between the two Academy students. “Have you guys ever seen a summoning jutsu?”

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever, and I’m sorry. I’ve started a different school this year which is a lot more gruelling than last year, so my writing time is knocked down. I’m still going to shoot for bi-weekly to every three weeks, not a month, but I can’t promise anything. 
> 
> This chapter had a lot of explanation, I know. Bear with me because the next chapter will have Minato’s confrontation and Inochi’s appointment. None of that will be pretty. Not to mention that we’ll see a few spars.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow… it’s been way too long. Windows crapped on me and deleted all 6,000 words of this chapter. Not to mention that the entire operating system stopped functioning. So now I have my beloved Linux(Ubuntu) back and am ready for some cranked out chapters.
> 
> Thirteen, and maybe Fourteen, will end the beginning exposition and set-up. Then we can get into some good ol’ plot. I’ve got so much in store for this, and I won’t be giving up anytime soon.

 

_“I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.” — Frida Kahlo_

 

Thirteen

 

“You know, for some reason I feel like this didn’t happen last time.”

 

“Honestly? You’re probably right.”

 

For two men discussing time-travel, Sakumo and Jiraiya were being downright phlegmatic about it. After the Hokage dismissed them, Jiraiya had suggested grabbing Kakashi and stopping by the Yamanaka Clan’s compound to pay Inochi a visit. Translation: _we might as well get this over with now before you can take off in the other direction._

 

Now, though, they needed to figure out the best way to drop a bomb like time-travel on a man like Inochi Yamanaka, who was a loyal ninja to the Hokage. Not that Sakumo wasn’t, but Kakashi felt strongly about not letting Sarutobi in on the secret just yet and he trusted his son’s judgement. Anyone would agree that Hiruzen Sarutobi wasn’t the best with conflicting situations, and the future knowledge couldn’t be leaked or found by Danzō, who probably had spies crawling around the Hokage Tower.

 

Luckily, Sakumo was pretty good friends with the Yamanaka Clan Head, and hopefully that would convince Inochi to keep a lid on things for now. Not to mention that Sakumo was pretty certain of his suicide in Kakashi’s future, so things had already been changed. Kakashi didn’t know anything about Sora, but he had a feeling that it happened a lot differently the first time, and that could completely change the outcome of the future. Even if the Hokage were to know, the memories wouldn’t be nearly as useful as they would sound.

 

“Do you think Kakashi’s back from training?” Sakumo asked as they approached the Hatake compound.

 

Jiraiya scratched his chin in thought. “Probably. Although Minato told me something about looking for Kakashi yesterday. Not sure why.”

 

Swiping his blood on the lock of the front door, Sakumo didn't comment as he entered the front room of the compound. The first few days after his mission were somewhat fuzzy, but he did recall Minato being with Kakashi when he returned. It might have something to do with that.

 

The inside of the Hatake compound wasn’t anything fancy considering Sakumo remembered his parents well enough to know that they didn’t appreciate frivolous things, especially _gaudy_ frivolous things. (Not that he found curtains gaudy, frivolous things, but that goes to show how much he agreed with his parents. Kaiya practically had a conniption at the lack of what she called “basic human conveniences” such as comfortable chairs, curtains, and wooden doors. She _hated_ shoji doors.)

 

As soon as Sakumo entered the front room, he called, “Kakashi? Are you home?”

 

He received a halfhearted “yes” from most likely the living room, and walked in to see Kakashi and Minato sitting on the sofa covered head-to-toe in mud and leaves. If the sofa wasn’t leather, then it would’ve been utterly ruined, not that it wasn’t replaceable. He was more concerned with the bruises standing out on his son’s pale skin and the exhaustion lining his face, though there was also a barely-noticeable amount of content.

 

“Hey Sakumo,” Minato greeted as soon as Sakumo entered the living room. “I saw Kakashi training earlier and thought I’d help him out.” For a brief moment, something akin to suspicion flitted across the new Jounin’s features, but it was gone quickly and replaced with some concern. “He definitely needs some help with chakra control.”

 

Sakumo nodded, already knowing as much.

 

Jiraiya stepped forward and gestured for Minato to follow him as he left for the kitchen. Sakumo knew his friend wanted him to tell Kakashi that they were going to go to Inochi’s within the hour, but he was reluctant to drop that on his son so soon. He wouldn't want to relive all of his mistakes either, and that didn’t account for the horrors that Kakashi had experienced only a few days ago. It hadn’t even been a week since Kakashi had lain on a bloody battlefield with his only surviving student, slowly dying. That wasn’t something that anyone would want to relive.

 

“What’s up?” Kakashi asked. From the expression on his face, it looked like he might have his suspicions.

 

The White Fang sucked in a breath and ran his hands through his hair, one of his nervous habits when he wasn’t on duty. He exhaled slowly and said, “I’m going to Inochi’s today.”

 

It was a testament to Kakashi’s professionalism that he didn’t show any outward reaction to this statement other than a brief closing of his eyes and a soft, almost inaudible exhalation of breath. Sakumo could almost see the brief emotions flit across his son’s face, but they quickly settled into a mildly blank look, reminiscent of the vacant stares that ANBU most often sported. It bothered Sakumo somewhat, but he knew that it was a defence mechanism more than anything, and accounting for the current set of circumstances, he was completely content with letting Kakashi find any way possible to deal with them.

 

After the worst of it was over, after Kakashi could utilize his chakra effectively, after the immediate issues were resolved, _that’s_ when Sakumo would talk through everything with his son. When they’d both be able to really start fixing the things that were broken.

 

“Are you going right now, or…?” Kakashi asked, already rising from the sofa. Sakumo just nodded.

 

Jiraiya and Minato came in from the kitchen, the Toad Sage shooting him a searching glance before ushering Minato out the door. Sakumo watched them go when suddenly, Kakashi’s tiny hand was in his and squeezing for all the kid was worth, as if he would disappear at any second like the remnants of a nightmare.

 

Konoha’s familiar streets was a comfort for the White Fang. It might be subdued and the mood dampened, but he knew the layout like the back of his hand. No matter what would happen in the future, Konoha was a steadying constant that always pricked the back of his senses like a long-time friend. The people, while flawed and scarred and unerringly _human_ , were also hopeful beyond all reason. They endured the worst hardships of war and survived the painful betrayals of their own; when life got tough, Konoha got going, and for that he was ridiculously proud of his village. Even during one of the worst moments of his life, he could still call Konoha home.

 

And that was something he would protect with his life.

 

The Yamanaka Clan compound was confusing, to say the least. Sakumo had only been there a few other times in his life, mostly when Inochi had needed a favor for T&I, but it would be hard to forget the ridiculous twisting hallways and purposefully confusing layout that most people found disorienting. Since he had the Lesser Dog Contract and his father had held the Wolf Contract, he found it pretty easy to navigate by scent alone so that the confusing twists and turns didn’t get him lost. Yamanakas loved their flowers, and he could find the correct rooms by sniffing for Inochi’s customary Bloodroots that sat on his desk.

 

The clan member at the gate was a short, sturdy woman with a gruff disposition and a perpetual frown. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a severe bun that pulled at the corners of her face, and from one look Sakumo could tell that this woman would take zero shit from anyone, elite Jounin or not.

 

“What’s your business here?” the woman asked, moving to stand in front of the gate. She was shorter than he was, but that didn’t diminish her intimidating air. He was impressed, really, since the woman was only a Chuunin.

 

“I’m here to see Yamanaka-sama,” Sakumo replied respectfully. “The Hokage instructed me to visit sometime this week for an evaluation.”

 

With a terse nod and a short “One moment”, the woman disappeared inside the gate for a few minutes. Once she’d returned, the gate swung open to reveal the sprawling compound in all its confusing glory. Honestly, the place didn’t look near as impressive as it was on the inside.

 

“Will you need an escort, Hatake-sama?” the guard asked, but Sakumo waved her—and the honorific—off.

 

“No need for that. Hatake-san is fine,” he said, giving the woman a small smile. “It’s hard to be the Clan Head of only two members.” She didn’t laugh, but the small upturn of her lips indicated her amusement and he counted that as a win.

 

During the entire encounter Kakashi was utterly silent, and it didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.

 

Following his nose, Sakumo lead his son through the monotonous, twisting hallways of the Yamanaka compound with a sure step and confident nose. He didn’t try to talk to Kakashi but instead let his son gather his thoughts and his courage because both of them were going to need it.

 

Inochi Yamanaka’s study was just as unassuming as it was the last time Sakumo had been there. A worn wooden desk polished to perfection stood at the far wall of the room with a small vase of Bloodroots on it, giving off that subtle acidic smell like a mix between vinegar and bleach. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, and he saw Kakashi’s nose wrinkle as soon as they entered the room, but he was long used to it and found that most people couldn’t detect an odor from the flowers at all.

 

If Sakumo hadn’t known Inochi better, he might assume the man wanted to irritate him on purpose.

 

“I heard you were ordered to come, but I thought you’d wait as late as physically possible,” the Yamanaka Clan Head mused as soon as the Hatakes entered the room. “You’re not exactly known for your sensitivity.”

 

 _Understatement,_ Sakumo thought sardonically, but just replied with, “I, unlike you, am a busy person and have other things to do than jab about how boo-hoo my life is, thank you very much.”

 

He received an uninterested shrug in return. That’s when Inochi realized Kakashi’s presence and his eyes narrowed a little in suspicion and concern. “Why’d you bring the kid?”

 

Kakashi stiffened at “kid”, and Sakumo idly wondered whether it got irritating for people not to have any respect for him. Since he was an ANBU captain and one of the most respected Jounin, the White Fang was sure that people talking down to him now probably drove him up the wall. Not that Sakumo would ever want people calling him kid again either.

 

“He’s got a little problem that needs your expertise, but let’s get this hour of whining out of the way first, shall we?” Sakumo said, already heading toward the door behind Inochi’s study.

 

Shooting Kakashi a final glance, Inochi nodded and followed his friend. They entered a large, bright room with open blinds and some comfortable-looking chairs around a low coffee table. It was dust-free and gave off the impression that it was a lot more spacious than it really was. And although the clean, open feel gave most people comfort, it put Sakumo on edge. It was _too_ innocent, _too_ clean, _too_ unassuming.

 

"I would start but I know you won't say any more even if I prompt, and we both know what you're here to talk about," Inochi said, leaning back in his armchair. "And I know as well as anyone that if you really don't want to talk, you'll sit here and bullshit me the entire time."  


 

Sakumo hid a wince, but didn't refute that statement.   


 

The problem wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to talk to anyone, but honestly, he didn't know exactly what he thought about the whole thing. First, he had to come to terms with the death of two of his original Genin students because of the betrayal of the third. Now he finds out that, never mind, one of them is actually still alive, but just chillin' in Suna for whatever reason. Excuse him for being confused as fuck and pretty unwilling to unload his weakest, most vulnerable emotions on another person, friend or not.   


 

Inhaling slowly to stall, the Leaf's White Fang sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know what to think," he admitted.   


 

"About?"  


 

"Any of it," he continued, gesturing vaguely. "This whole thing is such a clusterfuck and I'm just kind of stuck in the middle. As ninja, we're supposed to always complete the mission no matter the consequences, but I knew from the second we stepped foot in the way station that shit was about to go down. Akio was acting out of character, and I just assumed it was an ANBU thing, but I didn't think to ask if the Hokage really ordered him on that mission or not at the time.   


 

"I can't _help_ but blame myself for it. If I hadn't ignored one of the most important of the shinobi rules, looking underneath the underneath, then I wouldn't have gotten Korharu killed. They might not've been Genin anymore, but they were still _my_ responsibility!  


 

"How am I supposed to look Korharu's family in the eyes? How am I going to justify being a captain again if all I get my subordinates is an early grave? Yes, I've lost team members on missions before, but this time was different because this time I _knew_ something was wrong. I _knew_ that Akio was off. I _should have known_ that the mission wasn't worth my loved ones' lives."  


 

As soon as he'd begun, Sakumo found that he couldn't stop. The words just tumbled out of his mouth like vomit, unable to hold anything back or sensor. At the end, he was breathing heavy and his fists were clenched and trembling at his sides. Inochi looked a little stunned (probably because of how animated he'd gotten), but not surprised at what he'd actually said.   


 

"You probably should've talked with the Hokage before taking Akio with you," Inochi began, startling Sakumo. "And you probably should've turned back when he started acting weird. But Korharu was a ninja and Sora still is. They knew the risks and they accepted them, accepted the fact that they might die at any time in their lives. You were their captain and they were your responsibility, but just because you're responsible for something doesn't mean that you're God. Shit happens, Sakumo. Don't take all the credit for it."  


 

 _It's hard not to,_ the White Fang thought. _Not with Kakashi also being my responsibility._  


 

And maybe that was the real problem. Time-traveler or not, mentally thirty or not, ex-ANBU or not, Kakashi was his son, damn it! His five-year-old son, and Kaiya's only legacy. Kakashi had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it was breaking his back, had been for a long time, ever since Sakumo had gone and left the suffering for him to deal with alone. Kakashi was falling apart, unraveling at the seams, and there hadn't been anyone there to pick up the pieces in far too long.   


 

If Sakumo couldn't protect two fully trained Jounin, how was he supposed to protect Kakashi? In the next few years the ninja world would probably be in the midst of a bloody war, and with Kakashi's genius (that was even greater this time around) he'd be thrown into the thick of things faster than Kushina could say "ramen". The time-travel just complicated the entire thing a thousandfold, and it left Sakumo spinning and unable to get his bearings.

 

He'd never been able to hold onto anything. Whether it was the fraying ends of a bad relationship with his parents, the last members of his dying clan, his only sibling, his amazing and determined and beautiful wife, or his teammates, Sakumo was always forced to watch as it slipped through his fingers like water even as he clawed and scraped and strained to hold on for dear life. No matter how much he asked or demanded or pleaded, the world would always see it fit to take what he loved away.   


 

That's why he would fight to his dying breath for Kakashi. He would _not_ let the same thing happen to his son. There was no room for half-assing or self-pity or going in half-cocked. Kakashi, even though he'd confided in Sakumo, didn't really believe he would have any help in his mission. Anyone could tell that, even if he had let a few people in on the secret, he wasn't expecting any help or anyone to watch his back when he inevitably got himself in a fucked up situation.   


 

 _Fuck that,_ Sakumo thought viciously. _Kakashi is going to have my help whether he wants it or not._

 

A cleared throat brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Inochi stared passively at him, and Sakumo was sure that the Yamanaka was quite aware of his internal contemplation. He gave Inochi props for not asking, but just raising an eyebrow and giving some final advice.

 

“Look,” the Clan Head affirmed. “Korharu, Sora, and Akio were your original Genins; we both know they meant more to you than the teams you’ve worked with briefly since. But Sora is coming back, and you can talk then. Just don’t pretend this didn’t happen, Sakumo.” Here, Inochi paused and allowed a wry twitch of his lips to pass fleetingly across his features. “I know how you are—-so damn stubborn that you’d take a kunai to your balls and say you were fine.”

 

“That was _one time_ , and it was my _upper thigh_ ,” Sakumo grumbled, but the poor attempt at humor got him to cough out a laugh.

 

Inochi cracked a shit-eating grin. “Keep telling yourself that, Hatake. Maybe one day someone’ll believe it.”

 

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” Sakumo asked rhetorically, throwing his hands in the air.

 

“Not a chance in hell.” They both laughed.

* * *

  


Inochi had seen a lot of things in his life, but a time-traveler he had not. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard rumors of it being done. While most people tended to be the ‘see-it-to-believe-it’ type, he was a mind expert, and he’d ripped apart so many minds in his long tenure as a T&I ninja that there wasn’t much he hadn’t heard about or come into contact with. People in general were fickle, and that’s why he didn’t have the patience that his son did to methodically sift through a spy’s head; his job was to get information, and he’d trash someone’s psyche until he found it. He slept just the same at night. (Not that that was always good, mind you.)

 

So after the standard session with Sakumo, which was truly more for everyone else’s benefit than the man himself, Inochi found one of the most interesting people he’d ever come across: Sakumo’s son, Kakashi.

 

He’d felt off-put when he first saw Kakashi in his office with Sakumo but hadn’t paid much attention to it, but now that he’d gotten a closer look, he realized why. The kid was absolutely, irrefutably, and very likely irrevocably shattered. It didn’t even take a psychologist to see how the kid was in a constant state of awareness, as if at any time someone would jump out of the shadows and shove a kunai for his throat. Kakashi was uncomfortable with any type of physical contact that he hadn’t initiated himself, as demonstrated by the suppressed flinch when Sakumo put a hand on his shoulder, which spoke of years of fighting and hostile engagements. It was an all too familiar sight to Inochi, who had been tasked with rehabbing veterans of the Second Shinobi World War, but it drove a wedge in his armor to see that look on someone so young, whether that was counting Kakashi as five _or_ thirty.

 

A memory unbinding, however, was a bad, _bad_ idea. Any shreds of sanity Kakashi was still holding on to would be obliterated as soon as Inochi was finished. Binding memories might have been a fairly new technique, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t seen the effects of spies that they’d experimented on.

 

An Iwa spy that had participated in the Second Shinobi World War as a very young kid was driven insane within hours, and her memories had only been bound for a _day._ Granted, she’d been a part of Iwa’s ANBU since she was fifteen and her specialty had been seduction (not to mention multiple POW situations), but from the little he’d been informed of Kakashi’s past, there was plenty of experiences that would be equally as traumatising, if in different ways. Not to mention that Inochi had absolutely no idea how long the memories had been bound. It seemed highly unlikely that Kakashi’s student had had the time to bind the memories _and_ explain the pretenses of the time-travel, especially without the younger Hatake’s knowledge.

 

So Kakashi could be looking at weeks, or even months, and Inochi had no idea what that would do except that it would probably be bad. Foaming-at-the-mouth type of bad.

 

When Kakashi was informed of this, however, he said something that sparked an idea in Inochi.

 

“Everything has to be so abrupt, doesn’t it?” Kakashi grumbled. “I wake up straight away to see my dead father, I meet my dead sensei within a day, and I see the ghosts of the Third Shinobi World War within the week. No warning, no nothing, and now this.”

 

“Wait,” Inochi said, the idea forming in his mind. He could see how it was possible, though it hadn’t been attempted before, nor would it be pleasant, but it was possible and that’s all that mattered.

 

“I’ll gradually unbind the memories,” he said, looking between Kakashi and Sakumo. “I can go into your mindscape and find the memories that need to be unbound, and then as soon as one of them is free, your father or anyone else you want here with you can help you deal with whatever the memory was. That way, thirty years of shit won’t just be dumped on you, but instead you can work through everything as you go. It won’t take me long to just find a specific memory, and it won’t look suspicious to the Hokage to stop by maybe once a week. Large sections of relative calm can be done together, while the more distressful stuff can be done with more precision and isolation.” _Hopefully,_ he added on in his mind.

 

Sakumo glanced at his son before turning to Inochi, and the Clan Head found it amusing that, while the White Fang wasn’t _deferring_ to his son, he was being more conscientious than the Yamanaka had ever seen the man. He’d seen Sakumo talk disrespectful Chuunins and enemy Jounins into blubbering heaps with ease. Everyone knew who the White Fang of Konoha was, and it was common understanding that enemies avoided Sakumo Hatake like the plague else they see what kind of _tree-huggers_ the Land of Fire was supposedly raising. (Inochi scoffed every time he heard that particular jab; it wasn’t original or imaginative.)

 

It wasn’t that it was uncalled for or unexpected, but Inochi just wasn’t used to seeing Sakumo in such a personal setting. In fact, the previous meeting had gone more in-depth and resembled a true therapy session more than any ever had in the past, and if Kakashi’s time-travel was the cause… Well, Inochi figured it couldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he payed more attention to the situation at hand. “Either way,” he added, “it would be beneficial to begin now. Unless you want to wait until tomorrow, of course, since memory unbindings can take hours.”

 

Kakashi took a deep breath and gave a resolute nod. “I’ll do it. What will we start with first?”

 

“I thought it would be easiest to start from the beginning of your memories through about right now. I’m assuming, of course, that nothing traumatic happened up until this point in your original timeline?” Inochi ventured. Remembering the mission Sakumo just got back from, he added, “I can leave out the last month or so, if you want.”

 

“If you would,” Kakashi said, bowing his head just slightly in thanks.

 

Sakumo asked if he could stay, which Inochi insisted on, and Kakashi sat down on the floor in the middle of the room with all the furniture having been pushed to the side. Inochi knew that if they weren’t on the floor to begin with they’d end up there eventually, and it would make it easier for the mind-walk to take place if there weren’t any outside disturbances, especially ones like hitting the ground mid-way. In the T&I interrogation rooms, prisoners were restrained so they couldn’t move, but that wouldn’t be, well… _preferential_ in this situation.

 

“I will warn you that it’s going to feel extremely weird and most likely uncomfortable—-” Inochi began, but Kakashi cut him off.

 

“Like a nail through the forehead.” The words were straightforward enough, but there was a layer of meaning underneath the surface that the Clan Head couldn’t begin to fathom, nor was he going to bother trying.

 

 _Let’s get this over with,_ he thought as he formed the hand seals for one of his clan’s newest and most adventurous jutsus. He felt more than saw his surroundings dissolve away, and the familiar blanket of another’s mind settling on his shoulders was comforting in a way he was sure was unhealthy. He spent so much time within other people’s heads that when he was left alone with his own thoughts, he found it both painfully loud and disturbingly quiet. There wasn’t the lulling background static that surrounded him when he delved into another’s psyche which just accentuated his own thoughts until sometimes he swore he was yelling at himself.

 

As Kakashi’s mindscape faded into existence around him, he figured that even if this kid was miles off the deep end and not a single word of his story was true, Inochi at least had the opportunity to alleviate the piercing persistence of his own thoughts.

 

Right off the bat, Inochi knew something wasn’t right. Instead of a field or a house or any of the typical scenes that comprised the majority of humanity’s mindscapes, he came face-to-face with a completely blank white room. It was square with no windows or doors, and it was perfectly clean with no scuff marks, no dirt, and no signs that anything had ever been in here.

 

And yet, this mindscape was as familiar to Inochi as the back of his hand. Whether it was Konoha’s or another village’s members, every ANBU he’d ever interrogated always had this as their first line of defence if it came to a mind-walk from a Yamanaka. This was how ANBU could appear so outwardly robotic and statuesque. They cleared their mind of everything but the mission. Unfortunately, that required Inochi to break into Kakashi’s mind rather than wade through it, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say this, over anything else, would probably prove the kid’s story—-children were just incapable of this kind of organization and focus.

 

Before Inochi could contemplate how to proceed, a man appeared before him decked out in typical Konoha Jounin gear, and at first glance he mistook the man for Sakumo. Upon further inspection, the man had the shock of gray hair like the Hatakes, but had his headband tilted over his left eye and a thinner build than Sakumo. Inochi guessed that this was Kakashi as he saw himself in his mind.

 

If that wasn't proof, Inochi didn't know what was.

 

“I figured it would be easier if I met you here. I knew you wouldn't quite believe me since almost no one in their right mind would, and I didn't want you to drop unprepared into a mess of memories that would probably shock you out of my mind,” Kakashi said, voice low with unnamed emotion. He suddenly sat down cross-legged and the scenery around them changed.

 

They were at the Memorial Stone, its face carved with many more names than present, and the ground around it was scorched and upheaved. The training ground close by was nothing but a mess of wood chips from obliterated trees and the faintly metallic scent of blood, but Inochi was more focused on Kakashi, who was running the tips of his fingers over the engraving almost reverently. At the end of the list, another engraving appeared, but Inochi wasn’t able to get a glimpse of it.

 

He cleared his throat. “The Third War?” he probed tentatively. It revolted him that so many names would be added for the sheer stupidity of a dick-measuring contest.

 

Kakashi shook his head and said, “Only some. The Third Shinobi War was a bitter fight of attrition, a disgusting claw for bragging rights, but it wasn’t the scale of the Fourth.” The gray-haired man ran a hand through his hair. “Some of these nins weren’t even from Konoha.”

 

 _Not from Konoha?_ Inochi thought, bewildered. _What kind of threat would convince Iwa ninja to cooperate with Konoha?_

 

“I’ll have to look for your early memories,” he said as he approached Kakashi. “There wasn’t anything traumatic for the first five years, was there?”

 

“If you leave out the last month or so, then no,” Kakashi replied. He exhaled sharply through his nose as if amused, and Inochi chuckled.

 

“Careful,” Inochi mock-chided. “A lesser man might’ve mistaken that for a laugh.”

 

Kakashi cracked a grin and covered up his chuckle with a suspicious cough. Inochi figured that if he could still laugh (which was no small feat when it came to the Hatakes. Christ, he dealt with Sakumo enough), then there was still some hope. He hadn’t been around the kid enough to see for himself how far over the edge Kakashi was—and he _was_ over the edge—but humor was one of those things that was hard to get back after it was gone.

 

Getting down to business, Inochi pulled his finger into a series of hand seals: rat, dog, ram, rat, monkey. He gathered his chakra and spread it out, feeling the surrounding mindscape for old memories. The kind that most people forgot about and the ones that would eventually fade. In tandem, memories began to flash around them, and the Memorial Stone faded away to flicker between different snippets of childhood memories. Once he’d found the unbound childhood memories, the ones from this timeline, he sent chakra snaking through Kakashi’s physical body like prodding wires to find the seal that bound the old timeline. He’d closed his eyes by this point, but he could feel Kakashi’s gaze on him like a bone-crushing weight.

 

He wasn’t stupid. There was so much riding on this that he could be single-handedly destroying Konoha’s future or, conversely, saving it. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if more than just Konoha was teetering on a knife’s edge, and it wasn’t exactly reassuring that the fate of the world was left up to a borderline suicidal time-traveling kid and said kid’s emotionally unstable father. It wasn’t exactly—-

 

Bingo. There was the seal, resting smack dab on Kakashi’s heart, the foreign chakra scrawled across the epicenter of the kid’s chakra network _and_ circulatory system. It was barely detectable, but it was there like an ugly smudge on the otherwise clear stream of chakra flowing through Kakashi’s body. Inochi explored further, own chakra probing like fingers, but retracted back like he was burned when he realized exactly what he was looking at.

 

A binding seal, sure, but a binding seal that was fraying at the edges and a hair’s breadth away from shattering into a million pieces. Which, considering the nature of the binding seal, would mean it had to have been put on Kakashi an impossibly long time ago. Years, though he couldn’t be sure how many until he got a better look, and getting a better look would require poking at a precariously frail seal that was the sole barrier between Kakashi and a mental breakdown.

 

But he had to do it.

 

Without full control of his chakra, Kakashi wouldn’t be able to even graduate the Academy, let alone become a ninja, and if he couldn’t be a ninja then the future was so far beyond screwed that Inochi didn’t want to imagine it. He also didn’t want to imagine what could possibly be left of Kakashi should he break this seal. He didn’t even want to _touch_ it.

 

But he _had_ to do it.

 

Carefully maneuvering his chakra in the finest threads possible, he inspected the chakra of the seal and the decaying edges to determine the time-frame, and outright gasped at what he found. This seal had to be a quarter of a century old, and it was modified so that whenever it was activated, it would continue binding memories even after it was first applied. Inochi could see the minuscule changes to the structure that made it continuous instead of finite, and he filed that away for further study, but that caused so many more problems than they already had.

 

Opening his eyes, Inochi met Kakashi’s demanding gaze and asked, “What happened when you were five originally?”

 

Kakashi tensed and his fists clenched at his side, but Inochi could wait. After a few moments, Kakashi whispered, “My father committed seppuku.”

 

“...I’m sorry,” Inochi offered, but really out of a need for something to say. That future was gone, and there was no point in making a big deal out of something unlikely to happen. It did explain some things, however, like Kakashi’s aloof but emotionally reticent demeanor.

 

“You’ve had your memories sealed for twenty-five years,” Inochi said, gesturing to the still-flickering memories. “I can’t imagine who would’ve done it, but this seal has been binding your memories since you were around this age, and I absolutely refuse to unbind anything. I can’t be selective because if I jar the seal too much then the whole thing will collapse in on itself and not only do I have no idea what will happen, I am one hundred percent positive that it will be _fucking horrible._ ”

 

Kakashi bristled. “Then what am I supposed to do? I _need_ my chakra, and I can’t even climb trees like this!”

 

“Talk to Jiraiya,” Inochi said. “He might be able to work around it, and even if he can’t, there are still two others in Konoha proficient in seals. And I know you know who they are.”

 

That deflated Kakashi’s ire as fast as it had come, but Inochi was feeling pretty similar himself. The only person he could imagine having the ability to do this was another Yamanaka of high rank, but they all fall under the purview of the Hokage, and Sarutobi would never in a million years order the binding of an ally’s memories. And until Inochi found who was responsible the first time, he won’t have any idea if Yamanaka clan techniques were floating around in the wind. Konoha definitely didn’t need _that_ right now, and Inochi would rather not report to the Hokage that their enemies might have advanced interrogation techniques up their sleeves.

 

The entire time, Inochi had mostly been ignoring the flashes of memories that played around them, but a shock of bright yellow caught his attention and he turned to the side to watch what was going on. Kakashi followed his gaze and suddenly a small but genuine smile spread across his face.

 

Bewildered but glad, Inochi watched as Minato Namikaze instructed Kakashi and a boy that looked to be an Uchiha of the same age how to climb trees. Kakashi was unable to do it, but the Uchiha was slowly but steadily getting better because of Namikaze’s direction. The kid must’ve had a crazy amount of chakra for his age if he was struggling that much, but Inochi was more impressed with Namikaze’s teaching ability. He was a natural at it for sure, and he even summoned his toads to help demonstrate and motivate.

 

_“For tree-climbing, a steady stream of chakra has to stick to the tree at all times. Imagine it like glue, where too little isn’t sticky enough and too much makes you slide right off. In this case, your chakra will blow you from the tree, but it’s the same idea.”_

 

The Uchiha was about to run at the tree when Minato caught him by the collar and told him to slow down. If he walked up the tree slowly, then he’d hold himself at his highest possible point until he fell, and there would be less likely of a chance of hurting himself when he did fall. The Uchiha beamed and agreed, while Minato turned to Kakashi.

 

_“Do you want to spar?”_

 

Kakashi nodded and slid into a taijutsu stance. Inochi could tell right off the bat that the kid was still way too used to being as tall as his past counterpart and that his stance was slightly too far apart for his current height. It seemed memory-Kakashi figured that out too and immediately fixed the problem. Minato cocked his head at that, but didn't comment.

 

_“Begin.”_

 

Minato quickly realized that Kakashi wouldn't go on the offensive right out of the gate and decided to get a feel for the kid. From the look on Kakashi’s face, Inochi guessed that he already knew that. The blonde’s attacks were precise and slow enough for Kakashi to see and respond to, but they weren’t too slow as to make it easy. The Hatake was fighting against himself, though; he’d stick out a block that wouldn’t reach because he was fighting as if he was two and a half feet taller. He’d try to deliver a kick to Minato’s solar plexus, but it would swish harmlessly in front of its intended target because he was fighting against himself consistently.

 

It was obvious that Minato picked up on that, but all he did was fix an arm here, a leg there, and adjust Kakashi’s stance when it inevitably became too wide again. Inochi wasn’t surprised in the least that Kakashi’s taijutsu was taking a big hit, but from what he’d seen from Minato, it would be fixed fairly quickly if the blonde was the one to train Kakashi.

 

“Are we done here, then?” the present Kakashi asked from behind Inochi. He looked impatient and kind of disgruntled, but the Yamanaka figured that it was just because of the privacy infringement. He hadn’t actually meant to view any memories specifically except for the ones he had intended to unbind, but curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction brought it back.

 

“Yeah, we are.” Forming the ox hand-seal, the Yamanaka Clan Head watched his surroundings dissipate and blinked rapidly as the room around him slowly came into focus. Sakumo was sitting there just barely containing his worry, and the sun had gone from high in the sky to the slanting shadows of mid-evening. He heard a groan from beside him and glanced at Kakashi as the kid pulled himself up to a standing position. (Inochi was going to wait here on the floor a moment, thank you. He wasn’t as young as he used to be.)

 

“So?” Sakumo asked. The only thing betraying his uncertainty was the slight tapping of his foot.

 

Inochi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Where to start? How would he explain how exactly messed up this whole thing had just become—-

 

“Damn it all to hell,” Kakashi bit out, not looking his father in the eye. “Waterboarding someone in the middle of the Wind Country desert would be easier than this.”

 

Not the analogy Inochi was looking for, but that about summed it up.

 

 _Why_ did he get himself into this again?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is around 7,000-ish words, but I don’t like it. It feels, I don’t know… just bad. It feels like filler even though it’s not. I’d like feedback. I’ll definitely star this for revising later.


	14. Fourteen

_ “Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious.” —Oscar Wilde _

 

Fourteen

 

The Third Kazekage allowed her to stay in the hospital with Sasori and the other boy for as long as she felt like, but he had made it quite clear that whenever she was leaving, she was to inform him personally and Bolt from his office only. (Not that she would’ve risked Bolting from anywhere else.) So as soon as Amori dismissed her and began arranging the needed paperwork for a new treaty with Konoha, Sora made her way to the ninja wing of Suna’s hospital. 

 

It seemed that the ‘hospital look’ was universal, and she stopped several times to find the correct corridor of rooms until she stumbled upon a grumbling Sasori being treated by a nurse with simple bandages and antiseptic. From the lack of sutures, the once-over was really more for appearances than anything else, and she could relate to the amount of times some disgruntled RN or newbie LPN did the superficial job of bandaging cuts that might as well have been paper cuts for all ninja would notice them.

 

“Hey,” she said, knocking on the doorjamb as she perched herself on the threshold to the room. Sasori immediately looked up from the ground and gave her a painfully small smile that was more of a twitch than anything else, but at the least it seemed genuine.

 

The nurse finished up and gave both of them a tight upward turn of his lips before high-tailing it back to other patients’ rooms, and as soon as he was gone, Sora entered the room fully. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to Sasori since she hadn’t really known him that long, but the most pressing matter was probably the friend with the severed arm.

 

“Will your, uh, friend be okay?” she asked. She sat down on one of the hospital chairs next to the bed he was only really using for show. The staff probably hadn’t even bothered checking him in.

 

Sasori nodded and his burnt red hair didn’t move as he did, plastered to his head as it was. He tried to hide his worry, but Sora could tell from experience the anxiety in his features and the guilt that clenched his fists. She didn’t know who his friend was or anything about either of them really, but it didn’t take an expert to know they were at least kind of close. Close enough for him to feel responsible.

 

Neither of them spoke, but she hoped that she was at least some sort of comfort. She’d lost her fair share of teammates, and enough of them had been handicapped while on a mission she was running that she was intimately familiar with the feeling. It was like a twist in your gut that—-for the life of you—-you couldn’t shake off or ignore. Guilt like that waited until you were all alone to sweep the forefront of your mind and taunt you. And Sora hadn’t even seen half of what people like the ANBU Commander had seen, or the Hokage. She’d been a ninja long enough to feel the weight, but not long enough to get used to it.

 

As she watched this Suna Chuunin draw into himself, she couldn’t help but feel just a little pity. He was obviously extremely talented, and would probably climb high in Suna’s ranks. His mastery of chakra strings and puppetry was something she could certainly see going somewhere, and with the Third War probably around the corner, he would inevitably be thrown into action, maybe even leading a squad, and any innocence he could’ve had would be yanked away like a child without their blanket. 

 

Then again, Suna had rough people. They didn’t just lie down and take anything. 

 

Sasori’s sudden sigh caused her to break out of her own thoughts. “I…” he began, but only stared at the ground harder.

 

She knew not to interrupt whatever revelation he’d come to, so she kept her mouth shut. Whatever he wanted to say, it wasn’t easily put into words.

 

“I didn’t care,” Sasori whispered as clenched his fists. “I saw him get his arm severed by an Iwa ninja and I’m here waiting for him to get out of the hospital, and I realize that I just don’t care.”

 

Sora knew he wasn’t finished and just leaned back on the ridiculously uncomfortable straight-back chair. She watched as his nails drew blood from his palms and he subconsciously wiped the blood away before it could drip onto the floor. 

 

“He won’t be a ninja now—at least not unless they use him as cannon fodder—and I couldn’t possibly give a single shit.” Sasori worked his jaw and she saw the beginnings of what might possibly have been tears in his eyes, but he was holding them back. 

 

She hated to see this and always had, but it was something everyone who committed themselves to the warrior life, especially ninja, eventually went through unless they were killed first. When a person had finally seen enough mindless killing that even the handicapping or brutal murder of a team member didn’t even show up on the emotional radar, usually the realization that you were that far gone was worse than the actual act. When you finally understood what you’d gotten used to, and how unable you were to go back to the droves of civilian society; there wasn’t any turning back and you  _ should  _ care about little Haruto, but you just really really  _ didn’t.  _

 

Sora was fourteen—a Chuunin—and had run her third team as a leader. Her second in command had taken point because of his Byakugan and the third member had taken the back because of her sensory abilities. By the time they’d been close to the Fire/Rain border, they were attacked by Kiri ninjas. Her and the sensor, Yoko, managed to get out alive by the skin of their teeth, but Hideki Hyuuga had been caught by razor wire around the throat and decapitated. Sora and Yoko hadn’t had the time to recover his body, and the funeral had been a private affair by the Hyuugas.

 

Three days after the mission, Sora had met up with her friend Tsuru at the Academy where she worked and Tsuru had asked if she was okay. It was then that she’d come to the realization that she hadn’t known Hideki nor had she any conversations with him before that day; she didn’t miss him and didn’t mourn him. 

 

She’d seen enough death that there was no reason crying over someone that she hadn’t even known. People like her had to shield themselves mental pain in any way they could muster. 

 

She understood Sasori well—she did—but the kid had some of these things to figure out on his own. She didn’t know what was going on with Chiyō and him, but she got the gist of how it manifested.

 

From behind her, a Suna ANBU came through the doorway. The ninja had on the tell-tale porcelain mask with red paint in a shape that symbolized a monkey. “The Kazekage has summoned you to a Council meeting that starts in five minutes. I am here to escort you,” the ANBU said in monotone. Sasori didn’t even look up as she left.

 

Even though she didn’t really want to up-and-leave when Sasori might’ve benefited from her presence, this wasn’t a request and the treaty between Konoha and Suna was vital—-late wasn’t an option. On her way to the Kazekage Tower, she garnered a few slanted eyes from the lower-ranked ninjas, but the Jounins were carefully neutral and no one bothered her. Sand flew in her face from every direction, but she ignored it in favor of following her escort. 

 

“Thank you,” she said when they arrived. The ANBU gave a brisk nod and vanished, a  _ shunshin _ leaving a swirl of damp sand in its wake. 

 

The Third Kazekage was waiting in the chambers outside the council room with an ever-slight smirk across his face. When she entered, he held up a scroll marked with a blue band and blood seals, the tell-tale signs of a treaty. She had only ever seen one other, when the Third Hokage had reviewed treaties made after the Second War while she’d been giving a mission scroll. 

 

“I only need you to recount your actions since meeting Sasori,” the Kazekage said as he headed for the door to the council room. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

 

Sora had been expecting something along the lines of what Konoha’s council was like, with clan heads as part of a military sect and merchants and prominent business owners as part of a civilian sect with a small council of advisors that directly served the Kazekage. As soon as she entered the room, however, she realized how stupid an assumption like that was and quickly upped her opinion of Suna. 

 

The council members were introduced to her and she saw that while there were both ninjas and civilians actively sitting, the ninjas weren’t clan heads at all but simply elite Jounins. She recognized a majority of them from the most recent Bingo Book she’d gotten her hands on. The civilian portion was comprised of a smarter coalition of people including the Head of Suna’s hospital, the Head Matron of the orphanages scattered throughout the village, the Secretary of the Treasury that managed Suna’s private business rates and flow of money, the sitting Police Commissioner, and the Director of Infrastructure. The panel of three advisors to the Kazekage was comprised of his ANBU Commander, his Jounin Commander, and an ambassador from the Wind Country Daimyō. 

 

It was highly efficient to construct a council this way, and Sora understood from the get-go how beneficial it was to have relevant members advising the Kazekage instead of a bunch of people with only selfish interests in mind, which is what clan heads and business owners blatantly do. 

 

Once introductions were in order, the Kazekage gestured for her to explain herself. 

 

“I found myself in Suna because of an S-class secret that I have informed Kazekage-sama of already, but am not authorized to disclose to this council.” She cracked a shit-eating grin and an exaggerated shrug. “That’s above my paygrade.” That elicited chuckles from most of the shinobi and a few of the civvies. She continued.

 

“The first thing I saw was that I wasn’t disarmed nor did I seem to be in a hostile situation, but knew I was in Suna because of the sand. Sasori, a Chuunin in the Puppet Brigade, was the one who found me. I was suffering from severe chakra exhaustion and a few minor injuries. After a day or so, I was told that I could leave whenever I wanted to, but that Sasori was leaving on a mission assignment. 

 

“He was distressed that he couldn’t find a poison that he’d developed for his puppet, but had to end up leaving without it. Not very long before that, Lady Chiyō had had an arguement with Sasori and I assumed she might have wanted it for whatever purpose, so I headed for the hospital where I was 90% sure that Lady Chiyō would be.”

 

Takeshi Enatsu, a Jounin with a “highly dangerous” tag next to his name in the Bingo Book, spoke up then. “How did you enter the village without detection?” 

 

Sora hadn’t personally met Enatsu before, but she had heard rumors of his techniques from other Jounins before. He was famous for his fire affinity which wasn’t very common in Suna, and he basically turned sand into glass. Most speculated it was a bloodline, but no one had ever heard of his family or his jutsus so it wasn’t confirmed. From seeing him now, with his medium build and cornrowed navy blue hair to his modified Jounin uniform, Sora wasn’t necessarily super intimidated, but she’d seen the aftermath of his handiwork while visiting Tsunade before so she wasn’t going to base any serious judgement off of impressions.

 

“That would be the S-class secret,” she stated, and the outcry at that was swift.

 

Enatsu leaned forward in his chair and gripped the conference table. “Kazekage-sama, that leaves the village completely vulnerable. You can’t expect to keep us in the dark.”

 

“I agree,” the Police Commissioner, Emi Imoto, drawled as she propped her feet up on the table and kicked back her chair legs. She bit at a hangnail on her left thumb. “Doesn’t seem smart to me.”

 

Not that she hadn’t seen some eccentric people in her life, but Sora was surprised at the nonchalance in which the Commissioner held herself while in a room full of highly trained ninjas. And yet, the woman wouldn’t be in her job if she wasn’t intelligent, so Sora assumed there must be more to the story than just an ignorant civilian. 

 

The Kazekage let off a short burst of killing intent and everyone quickly shut the hell up. “This isn’t up for debate. It was the one stipulation for the agreement Kuramoto-san and I came to. Now be silent and listen.”

 

No one needed to be told twice. 

 

Clearing her throat, Sora finished it up. “Disregarding the way in which I entered the village, I was caught and taken to the hospital because of the ongoing Treaty of Nonaggression this village has with Konoha. I recovered the poison that had been on Lady Chiyō’s person and left the village. I used my summons to track down Sasori where I found him and a Genin engaged with ninjas from Iwa. The Genin lost a forearm before I could pull him out of the way. I transported myself straight to the Kazekage to save the Genin’s life and now find myself here.”

 

It was silent for a few moments, as if no one was quite willing to believe what she’d told them. Which wasn’t unexpected, but it would make it harder if the council didn’t want to approve the treaty. The Kazekage had quite a bit of power, but she was under the impression that he couldn’t instate martial law until war was declared or a natural disaster had occurred. Emergency power and all that.

 

The first to break the silence was the Head of the hospital. He sighed and gestured to Sora. “What did you bring us here for, Kazekage-sama?” 

 

“I want to reissue our treaty with Konoha before the Third Shinobi World War starts.”

 

Sora found a lot more nods of approval than she would’ve expected.  Most of the civilians, excepting the Director of Infrastructure, seemed to be in complete agreement. The ninjas weren’t as uniform, but there were quite a few either in outright approval or at least neutral. She couldn’t read Enatsu because of his stony, emotionless expression, but that didn’t matter. The council already had majority.

 

“Thank you, Kuramoto-san,” the Kazekage said. He then addressed the council. “That will be all.”

 

The ninjas used a  _ shunshin _ to leave immediately and the civilians filtered out one by one, collecting their belongings and jackets. Imoto, however, left first and quickly, but Sora didn’t give it much thought.

 

The Kazekage gestured for her to follow him, so she found herself in his office with the privacy seals she’d erected earlier activated and any windows blacked out with a genjutsu. 

 

She hadn’t paid much attention to the Kazekage’s office before, but it was furnished very nicely. He seemed to prefer wooden furniture to metal, and the simple flat-top desk looked like white oak with silver handles. It was smooth from years of paperwork and picture frames and scrawled missives written in the middle of the night. From coffee mugs and tea cups and that spilt water that no one had bothered to clean up for a half an hour last week. The enraged shove that dumped everything on top to the floor and the feet because  _ by God  _ civvies couldn’t use chakra to get those kunai off the ceiling. 

 

Sora could tell by the high-quality but chipped blinds, the dented and scuffed and burned adobe walls, and the white oak desk what kind of people the Kazekage and Kazekages before Amori were. Suna wasn’t much different than Konoha. (Discounting that God-forsaken sand.)

 

“These are the terms for the treaty.” Amori handed the scroll over to her, breaking her reverie, and then glanced at her arrows. “I would imagine it would make the most sense for you to take the scroll to the Hokage via your spacetime seal.”

 

Sora gave a sharp nod and withdrew an arrow. She tapped the shaft, which wrote a seal formula on the surface, and raised her hand in the one-handed rat. She whispered “ _ Fuuinjutsu _ ” and was gone.

 

* * *

 

Hiruzen Sarutobi had a problem. 

 

A big, messy problem.

 

He had an Academy student that was about to graduate at the tender age of five, four years before his peers, and it couldn’t have been at a worse possible time. How could he possibly send such a young child into what was sure to be a bitter war of attrition? On the other hand, how could he hold such a genius back when Konoha needed every available soldier to pull through this war?

 

Hiruzen didn’t want to ruin a child, but he would. He’d avoid his bedroom for the next few days, but he would do what had to be done. Unfortunately, his original plan for Kakashi Hatake wasn’t going to work. This kid was a genius, but he wouldn’t be able to work well with a traditional Genin team. The older kids would never work with the young Hatake even if Kakashi was completely willing to, so there wasn’t much more that Hiruzen could do about that. He could, however, give Kakashi to a Jounin as an apprentice. 

 

Apprenticeships didn’t usually begin until a Genin or Chuunin had worked on at least one squad and figured out their preferred area of expertise. Most would then seek out someone willing to train them more individually and train with said person as long as agreed upon. 

 

The only Jounin that would probably be willing to take such a young apprentice would be Minato Namikaze, Jiraiya’s student, but he was shaping up to be a powerful asset of the Leaf that Hiruzen couldn’t chain to the village for the next four years until Hatake could be assigned to a Genin team of his own age. So that left finding someone else, but he couldn’t think of a single Jounin that would be willing to—in their minds—be saddled with a brat and be ordered on babysitting duty. Not to mention take less pay because they’d have to take fewer missions with such a young apprentice.

 

_ I’m too old for this,  _ Hiruzen thought as he sifted through the graduation exam applications. Tsuru Mihara might’ve been a good idea if she wasn’t an Academy teacher about to take the Jounin exam. He couldn’t very well apprentice someone to her when, from what he could recall, she hadn’t done her own apprenticeship. She hadn’t decided her own area of expertise.

 

His only option was to give the kid to Minato. Anything else wouldn’t work, and Hiruzen couldn’t afford anything not working right now. He’d just have to push Minato a little harder than he’d like to, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be too big of a problem. Minato wasn’t one to give anything less than his best for anything. 

 

That left so many other things that Hiruzen felt like lying down on the floor and refusing to get up. Someone else could deal. What he  _ needed  _ was a goddamned successor. 

 

But Danzō was being his warmongering self (when  _ wasn’t  _ he, honestly?), and now Hiruzen had to clean it up. Root just had BAD IDEA painted all over it with bright neon letters. It couldn’t be ignored and it couldn’t be completely disbanded from the outset because Danzō would just pull back and wait until he could reinstate his operatives in the formal ANBU ranks. The aged Hokage knew his former teammate better than most, and Danzō was such a paranoid old codger that he probably had contingency plans for his contingency plans. No, any action against Root would have to be subtle and gradual. 

 

Who was he going to get to do  _ that _ ? Unfortunately almost no one would be willing to go swimming in the proverbial snake pit. As he was reading through his paperwork and mulling over the many steaming piles of shit that had landed in his lap recently, a bright flash of light brought his attention to his  _ favorite _ wayward Jounin. (If the sarcasm wasn’t stifling, he’d give up his hat.)

 

There was a heavy silence that neither broke for several moments.

 

“Kuramoto-san.”

 

A deep bow. “Hokage-sama.”

 

Hiruzen laid his pen down slowly, carefully exaggerating the movement as he blatantly ignored the woman in front of him to shuffle through some irrelevant reports from the Academy about team assignments that only passed through for a rubber-stamp out of courtesy. He stamped every single one, re-wetting the wooden block between each and rocking the stamp back and forth to get good coverage. Upon finishing, he picked up a stack of receipts regarding the reassignment of three different Chuunin squads and their differing commission. 

 

He was going to wait her out because he hadn’t been this angry in a very long time. Each of his movements were controlled and precise, and it was an exercise in patience not to sweep everything off the top of his desk and give a good old-fashioned dressing down. 

 

As it stood, he was one wrong word from doing so anyway.

 

Finally, it seemed as though Kuramoto was finished waiting and she cleared her throat. Hiruzen glanced up like he hadn’t realized she was still there and—with a quick flick of his wrist—sent his hidden ANBU out of the room. Privacy seals in place, he gestured for her to continue. 

 

“Hokage-sama,” she began, and he had to give her credit for not fidgeting or averting her gaze. “I’ve brought this from the Kazekage.” She revealed a blue-banded scroll.

 

Hiruzen eyed it. “And this is?” He knew very well what it was, but couldn’t stop himself from letting the condescension  leak out.

 

She averted her eyes. “A treaty, sir.”

 

“Be more specific, Kuramoto-san. Treaties can be about a great many things.”

 

She didn’t respond right away, and Hiruzen found himself gaining momentum, letting his pent up anger, frustration and irritation roll together. He had to be Hokage twenty-four seven, and—as much as Sora Kuramoto was highly skilled—he didn’t have the time to deal with this kind of incompetence. 

 

“Is this the treaty you secured by breaking into Suna’s hospital, stealing  _ poison,  _ and for God’s sake doing it in front of the  _ motherfucking Kazekage himself _ ! Do you have a  _ death wish _ ? Do you realize that your actions could have started the Third Shinobi World War and left Konoha with no allies, no outside supplies, and no trading with a  _ single  _ Hidden Village? You are so beyond lucky that this entire situation didn’t go to utter hell or I would have you executed for high treason. Where was the logic in this?  _ Where was the fucking common sense _ ?! How could you possibly— _ possibly _ —have missed the sheer, unadulterated stupidity in that plan?”

 

Hiruzen’s chest was heaving by the time he finished and Kuramoto looked as though she’d already shit herself twice over. The killing intent leaking off the Hokage was going unchecked and he didn’t give a damn. He’d never thought he’d have to tell a ninja all but ANBU in name not to do what she had just done.

 

_ BANG!  _ A fist clenched in anger on the wood. “Explain to me your thought process here,  _ Kuramoto-san _ . Because I am at a fucking loss.”

 

It was quiet except for his heavy breathing and Kuramoto’s uncomfortable, miniscule shifting. There wasn’t anything she seemed willing to say and it was a good thing too because he wasn’t in the mood to hear it. He just wanted the treaty so he could figure out what he’d be giving up. Kuramoto handed it over at his gesture and he braced himself.

 

Everything was pretty routine when it came to military and civilian assets and trading, and he’d look through all those details later, but it had one stipulation that Hiruzen really should’ve seen coming: the Bolting Arrow. 

 

Kuramoto’s seal was keyed into only her chakra or her family’s. Therefore, Amori was demanding that Kuramoto marry a ninja from Suna to pass on the seal. According to the treaty, it didn’t matter who she married, just that she did. It also demanded that she moved to Suna once the war ended and be inducted into Suna’s ninja ranks. 

 

_ She might be getting razed right now for her recklessness, _ the old Hokage thought,  _ but she’s an asset the Leaf can’t afford to lose. _

 

He knew, though, that he couldn’t pass up a treaty from anyone, especially Suna. Konoha’s ninja worked the best with those of Suna, and there wasn’t any hard feelings on the whole from the Second War like there was with Kiri or Kumo, or  _ especially  _ Iwa. If Hiruzen was being honest with himself, this situation couldn’t have turned out a whole lot better barring the Third War not happening. However, he had Kuramoto until the end of the war, which could be years, and he wasn’t about to waste that time. 

 

There were quite a few jobs no one else would want to take, and she’d realize quickly the consequences for her actions. (He’d only take it a  _ slight _ bit easier since she’d been lucky enough not to fuck everything up.)

 

Hiruzen cleared his throat and deposited the scroll in a blood-sealed compartment in his desk. “Kuramoto-san, I have a proposition.”

 

She stood stoically and Hiruzen knew that she wouldn’t refuse because what he was about to say wasn’t a request. She understood this. And he needed to kill two birds with one stone.

 

“You already know that Sakumo’s son is graduating in a couple of months and he’s too young to function on a typical Genin team. I want you to take him as your apprentice.”

 

Kuramoto’s eyes widened and her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, but she didn’t say a word. 

 

“Furthermore,” Hiruzen said, keeping his words clipped and tone cool as he pulled the correct paperwork from the drawers of his desk. Sliding the transfer order around to face her, he set a pen on top and folded his hands. “I need someone inside Root.”

 

She bit her lip just slightly—the only outward sign she was uncomfortable—and Hiruzen would give credit where credit was due. Her hand didn’t shake as she signed on the dotted line, even if she was as good as sealing her fate, and she didn’t ask a thing. Once finished, Hiruzen tossed her a scroll double-banded with orange and gestured to his door.

 

“More information will be given to you when necessary. Memorize that scroll and report back in at 0:300 hours a week from tomorrow. Your mentorship won’t start for a couple more months and until that time you will find yourself getting comfortable in ANBU.” He let a little killing intent leak out to punctuate his point. “You are dismissed.”

 

Sora Kuramoto bowed deeply and snapped off a “Yes, sir” before heading towards the doors to his office when Hiruzen called her name. She looked back expectantly as if he was about to hammer another nail into her coffin. 

 

Hiruzen Sarutobi glanced up at the woman with deadpan features. He didn’t smile or frown or smirk or joke around. Giving her a cursory scan, he focused back on his paperwork before saying, “You might want to try and play nice with the ninjas from Suna, Kuramoto-san. They’re looking forward to the quality time.”

 

He heard her leave, but didn’t bother looking up. He had a meeting with his small council in an hour and needed to plant the seeds for Danzō without drawing suspicion. 


	15. Fifteen

_ “Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald _

 

Fifteen

 

Only the soft whistle of the wind could be heard in between the trees. Grass rippled and tree branches swayed; the gentle gusts of wind stirred up a sweet aroma of dewed grass and witch hazel—a pleasantly clean smell. The sun had just set and Kakashi was lying back in the grass a few hundred yards from the Hatake compound simply basking in the peace that he hadn’t felt in so long. He marveled at the feel of lush grass underneath his fingertips and damp earth between his toes in a way he hadn’t since he was even younger the first time around. The night was quiet—the kind of quiet he could lose himself in, drift asleep by and not care about waking up. No blood, no smoke, no scorched ground—just the wind and the witch hazel.

 

He had talked to Jiraiya. In fact, the Toad Sage had been excited when he found out that he’d be able to mess around with Kakashi’s chakra imbalance until they could figure it out. Jiraiya said he hadn’t had a good challenge in too long and that he was already thinking up ways to artificially balance the chakra out. 

 

Inochi, however, hadn’t been optimistic about the seal on his heart. 

 

But that didn’t matter at the moment as he laid back and relaxed. He could worry about chakra imbalances, terrorist organizations, and his impending insanity some other time. It wasn’t as if most of those things hadn’t been problems before he traveled back in time, and he wasn’t about to let a perfectly good night go to waste because he was too busy brooding to kick back, pull down his mask, and watch the sunset. 

 

Quiet footfalls sounded from behind him and Kakashi propped himself up on his elbows to see his dad come down the slight incline to the field he was using in place of a therapist. His dad was only wearing sweatpants and a navy undershirt, so he assumed that his dad was close to going to bed and wanted him to come inside. Instead of saying anything, though, the man just sat down a couple feet from him and tilted his head to the sky.

 

They sat like that for a few peaceful minutes before his dad let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face. Kakashi didn’t say anything, but cast a curious glance to his right.

 

Sakumo seemed a little worried, but Kakashi knew that was warranted so he didn’t really know what to say. In fact, as much as he was ecstatic to have a chance with his father, he was beginning to realize how little he knew about him. Now that Kakashi had gone back in time, he was a little uncomfortable how clueless he really was to a lot of the people he should’ve known. Most children would want to know about their mother if they hadn’t known her, but Kakashi had always focused on training, being a ninja, and more training. 

 

“You have to do this, don’t you?” Sakumo asked, his voice pitched low. Kakashi couldn’t tell what he was thinking by his face, but it wasn’t that hard to guess. 

 

He sighed. “I’d ask you to be more specific, but the answer’s still the same.” He fiddled with the hem of his mask and stifled the fleeting urge to pull it back up. No one else was there but the two of them.

 

Kakashi lay back in the grass with his hands folded behind his head as he let everything sink in. Neither of them had taken a step back since he’d first arrived in the past, and he didn’t expect his father to be able to be in this for the long haul without some breathers. Hell, he didn’t think would’ve lived this long if Guy wasn’t the only person more stubborn than himself and a certified taijutsu genius. The forced days off and ridiculous challenges and upbeat attitude probably saved his psyche more times than his pride would like him to admit.

 

Which reminded him, he wanted to talk to Guy as soon as possible. From the brief interaction they’d had at the Academy, Kakashi already knew he couldn’t stay away for long. If he remembered correctly, it was about this time that Guy had announced that they were Eternal Rivals, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that at all. Obito, Asuma, Kurenai, Rin, Genma, and Raidou were great, but they’d defer to him if it really came down to it, and he was old enough to realize that that wasn’t what he needed.

 

Besides, he wasn’t sure how team assignments would turn out when it came time for that, and while he wasn’t sure if he wanted Team 7 to be kept intact or not, he wouldn’t object to Guy ending up on his Genin team if that’s how the dice landed. Either way, he wasn’t going through the Academy again without a little break in the monotony. Between Obito  _ and  _ Guy, well… he shouldn’t have a problem.

 

“Shouldn’t you be going to bed?” his father asked stiffly. He sounded decidedly uncomfortable.

 

“Um…” 

 

They both kind of sat there for a moment. It was awkward and Kakashi wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say. Agree? Allow his father to be in charge? He didn’t know if he could  _ do _ that. It wasn’t something he was… comfortable with. He’d seen and done too much in his life to take orders from anyone but the Hokage, and that alone would be hard enough. He was used to being his own commander, and deferring to anyone was going to be a practice in patience.

 

“Look,” Sakumo quickly diffused. “I only meant that since you’re physically so young, you might want to try sleeping a little more.”

 

The tension faded and Kakashi snickered. “Not exactly the parent type?”

 

“Watch it, brat,” Sakumo said without any heat. “I have a feeling there’s not a single man from the Hatake family that was ever the parent type. Your mother was definitely more parental than I’ll probably ever be.”

 

Kakashi abruptly stopped chuckling and glanced at his dad with slightly wider eyes. He couldn’t believe his dad was willingly talking about his mother. There weren’t any pictures and there weren’t any mentions of her before, but—just like almost everything else—he was coming to realize that he didn’t have such a grasp on these early years like he’d thought.  _ I mean, _ Kakashi thought,  _ how much of our relationship was my fault? _

 

He wasn’t going to let the chance slip by him.

 

“What was she like?” he asked quietly, staring out over the backyard. He lowered his voice again, and it almost didn’t sound like himself, regardless of age. “What rank was she?”

 

Sakumo blinked before realization dawned on his features. “You… you don’t even know who she is, do you?”

 

Kakashi shook his head and acknowledged, if only to himself, that miniscule part of him that always was a little kid who didn’t have a mom. The kid that wanted his dad to give him a piggy-back ride when he was two and the kid that wanted to make Minato-sensei proud because no one had ever been proud of him before. Not anyone that he could really remember.

 

“Well,” his dad drawled, and Kakashi could hear the reluctance and grief edging into his tone. “Her name was Kaiya Inuzuka, and we met long before either of us started the Academy.”

 

Inuzuka? 

 

Thinking about it for a moment, Kakashi realized how much that made sense. From the things he could remember of the time he spent with his father, he had hyper aware senses that surpassed even Sakumo and—even though he’d suppressed it for the entirety of his childhood and young adult years—a loyal and self-sacrificing streak a mile wide. Pack was everything to him now, and he’d rather die than see more of them be slaughtered. 

 

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “When did you meet?” 

 

His dad sighed and ran a hand over the bottom half of his face. “We didn’t. Not really. I honestly can’t remember a time during my childhood that we weren’t playing or training or getting into trouble together, it just always was like that. Before most of the Hatakes died off, we were close with the Inuzukas. Similar summons and values and what not, but Kaiya was always different than the rest of her clan. And I, well…” 

 

Sakumo shrugged helplessly. 

 

Kakashi processed this silently, going through everything he knew about the Inuzuka clan and their family history (which, granted, wasn’t much), and he tried to think about the names he’d seen on the Memorial Stone, if hers was on it. Then he felt stupid because she died in childbirth, and apparently that wasn’t hero enough for some people.

 

“She was a vicious ninja that didn’t hesitate to go for the throat and earned respect from almost everyone she met,” Sakumo continued, shifting around to face Kakashi better. “But not for reasons most associate with an Inuzuka. She was scarily good at espionage.

 

“Kaiya would be gone for months at a time, sometimes longer when we were first dating, but she never failed to come back with the information requested of her. Usually whoever she stole from didn’t realize their intel was gone or tampered with until long after she was back in Konoha and sometimes not even then. When I asked her about it, she just said that no one looks too closely at the difference between a smile and a grin.”

 

Unbidden, images of Naruto flashed through Kakashi’s mind. The painfully large grins he’d crack as a child that seemed gruelling to plaster on versus the small but real smiles that would catch the kid off guard during moments of genuine happiness. The way Naruto’s eyes would close when he couldn’t bear looking anyone in the eye while he split his lips and flashed too-white teeth. Kakashi could remember his own face when his eye curved and his lips quirked up into a semblance of a smile, but really just showed off a grimace-like grin.

 

Oh yes, Kakashi knew the difference. And he knew how easy it was to miss. 

 

Naruto couldn’t get drunk because of the Kyuubi, but Kakashi thought that he used to try. Every damn day.

 

An arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulders and Kakashi looked up, startled, to find his dad staring at him in concern, only to realize that he was lightly shaking.  _ When did that happen?  _

 

“She’d be proud of you,” his dad whispered, a ghost of a smile following the sentiment. “And even in death, she never stopped loving you. She looked me in the eyes as you were born and said, ‘Kakashi. Tell Kakashi that he will always be my son and that I will always love him.’ You were her everything, and even if you blame yourself, I’m glad you survived. I’m glad that you could come back. And I’m  _ so glad _ that I get to know what kind of man you’ve become.”

 

Kakashi didn’t know when he started crying, only that he was. It was just too much. Leaning into his dad’s side, he shook with silent tears that he’d never allowed himself to cry and mourned the people he’d never been allowed to mourn. Cried for the friends he’d lost and the innocence that had been stolen. Mourned the opportunities he missed out on and the family he never had. Cried for his dad and his mom, and Naruto and Sakura, the students he’d ignored and the two he let down. 

 

And his dad never stopped holding onto him like a solid weight that he could depend on. It was foreign and yet familiar at the same time, like he’d forgotten what if felt like to depend on someone but it was coming back to him after all this time. 

 

Kakashi  _ needed _ his dad, and only now did he wonder how he ever got along without him. How he looked past the crushing weight of his dad leaving him alone. All he knew for sure was that he’d go to hell and back to keep his dad alive this time and damn  _ anyone _ who thought they could fuck with  _ his  _ family,  _ his  _ happiness,  _ his  _ pack. 

 

He’d gotten his dad well and truly back—Fate wasn’t being a hardass—and he wasn’t about to let go.

 

X.x.X.x.X

 

The next morning at the Academy was a certain kind of interesting, that was for sure. Apparently the class was scheduled to stay inside and work on basic reading and writing (since it was a class full of kindergarteners), but that meant Kakashi was just about to stab himself in the face because  _ goddamn I swear I can read just pleasepleaseplease get me out of here— _

 

Alas, no one quite got his plight. Even the smartest of his generation like Kurenai and Kakashi’s original five-year-old self wouldn’t have been able to read fluently by this age. Beginning and maybe even excelling, yes, but even at an acceptable level to be a ninja? Not quite. The only reason Kakashi graduated without being entirely literate in the first place was because they needed talented bodies for the war and Kakashi was readily available. 

 

Genius he might’ve been, but prepared to be a Genin he probably had not been. There’s only so young you can turn one into a killer.

 

While all the little brats were working on their kanji, Kakashi decided to doodle. Yes, the famed friend-killer Kakashi was doodling stick figures and stupid explosions on the bottom of his worksheet, but sue him—there wasn’t anything else to do shy of pulling pranks like Naruto or Obito, and that’s where he drew the line. He did have some dignity, after all.

 

It had probably been about a half an hour of mindless nothing when Tsuru-sensei approached his table and he glanced up from his masterpiece. (Which consisted of a stick-figure form of Madara getting eaten by an overgrown toad while Zetsu was being boiled alive with Kaguya’s tears of defeat.) 

 

She glanced at his drawing, but if she found anything odd with it, she didn’t comment. 

 

“I have your early graduation form here for you to fill out. The test is in three months and you’ll have to be at the Academy earlier than the other graduation applicants,” Tsuru said, handing over the form. “I expect punctuality. If you pass, you’ll stay here and receive either a team or an apprenticeship.”

 

Kakashi nodded and tucked the sheet away in one of his folders as his teacher spoke again. “Since you seem so  _ occupied _ with the material, I’d like to have you work on your taijutsu outside on the grounds. There’s another student that’s far enough along that you can spar with.”

 

_ If it’s not Guy, I swear to God I’ll eat my mask. _

 

“His name’s Might Guy.”

 

_ I would keep a running bet, but I don’t have that kind of money to pay myself. _

 

“Of course, Tsuru-sensei.”

 

She escorted him outside and left an assistant to watch the kids doing writing exercises. Guy was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet on the outer edge of the sparring ring with a decidedly  _ eager _ smile on his face. At once blinding and nostalgic, Kakashi gave a small grin back as the image of torched jumpsuit and mutilated musculature over-layed itself onto this innocent boy standing in front of him. His fists clenched, his teeth ground, and his eyes curved as he said, “Yo.”

 

Guy beamed, and if it wasn’t impossible at this age, Kakashi almost swore he could see the faint outlines of the Springtime of Youth genjutsu that Guy had bullied Kurenai into teaching him the first time around. The reds of a sunset seemed to shimmer before vanishing, and Kakashi crossed his fingers that Kurenai wouldn’t teach Guy anything this time.

 

“Yosh!” Kakashi’s old friend gushed, pumping a fist in the air. “I cannot wait to spar with an early graduate!” 

 

A shaky chuckle escaped Kakashi’s lips as he fought for control of his emotions. “I’m sure I’ll have a hard time at it,” he whispered, then cleared his throat.

 

“Okay!” Tsuru called, catching Kakashi’s attention. “This is just a friendly spar, so keep it clean. I don’t want either of you brats dying on my watch—they dock my pay for that.” Kakashi laughed, as he’d heard that joke from Iruka during the war. (Although it was considerably less amusing when it was referring to Naruto and Sasuke, and it wasn’t really a joke, but—ehh, what can you do.) 

 

Both friends stepped into the ring and made the Sign of Confrontation before backing up into respective corners. Tsuru raised an arm and dropped it, yelling, “Begin!”

 

Guy struck first with a textbook Academy-style left hook that Kakashi was hard-pressed to dodge. Guy’s speed for his age was ridiculous, and Kakashi wasn’t used to his body or his chakra, so Guy’s fist swished just a hair shy of his jaw, which was a great thing since—even as a kid—the Green Beast’s hits hurt like a right bitch.

 

The punch left Guy slightly over-extended, however, since he hadn’t learned how to shift his balance on the fly, and Kakashi capitalized on that by pulling just enough on Guy’s arm to send him reeling forward. With a vicious headbutt, Kakashi sent Guy backward and delivered a sucker punch to the solar plexus. 

 

Guy recovered and smiled even bigger, as if it was  _ fun _ to take a hit. (Which it was for him.) He darted forward and with his next kick, Kakashi saw the beginnings of his infamously effectively taijutsu style that he adapted from his father. To avoid getting the shit kicked out of him, Kakashi immediately dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, his heart beating wildly.  _ I need to trip him up. I can’t outrun him. _

 

Leaping to his feet, Kakashi shook his hands out and bent low, leaving his center of balance more stable. He took off running as if he was going to blitz Guy head-on, but at the last second—and just as Guy threw an elbow jab that would’ve destroyed his throat—he baseball-slid through Guy’s legs, catching his ankles on the way, effectively sending Guy pitching forward and face-planting. Pressing his advantage, Kakashi rolled out of the slide and pulled out a kunai, letting it hover right above Guy’s left carotid. “Yield?”

 

A chuckle sounded from underneath him before Guy caught Kakashi’s ankle with his foot and pulled him to the ground flat on his back where Guy proceeded to roll over and lock Kakashi into an arm-bar. Kakashi, however, shifted the kunai to press against Guy’s right femoral artery, so while Guy might be in the position to break his arm, it wouldn’t be fast enough to prevent Kakashi from slicing a major artery that would bleed out in minutes. Guy started to press on his arm anyway, probably thinking Kakashi would drop the kunai from the pain and it accentuated Guy’s inexperience. 

 

But what actually happened was much,  _ much  _ worse. 

 

As his arm got pulled backward and he could feel the pressure on the bone, his mind screeched at him. 

 

And suddenly he wasn’t in the Academy sparring grounds, but covered in mud and blood and he was  _ choking— _

 

_ He’d broken his arm earlier against Genma when his exhausted body couldn’t block a violent kick from the reanimated corpse, and his chakra reserves were so low that he couldn’t afford any chakra buffering. His humerus was snapped in two and sticking out of his arm, and he could feel the bones rubbing together. His chakra was completely exhausted and he figured he had about two minutes before he lost consciousness.  _

 

_ That’s when he heard the sounds of pounding feet and realized he had about fifteen seconds to hide or he would be well and truly dead. He was in no position to fight a green Genin, let alone the reanimated corpse of anyone he knew.  _

 

_ Using his unbroken arm, he formed three half-seals that sucked up the remaining drops of his chakra and sent him plummeting into the mud below him. He prayed that they wouldn’t be able to sense him because of his nonexistent chakra, but realized that it didn’t really matter because his vision was swimming and his hands were shaking like he was having a seizure and he could hardly breathe.  _

 

_ Kakashi didn’t remember passing out, but he remembered vividly waking up to burning agony eating through every cell in his body. His mask was in tatters and what little sensory protection he had was gone and he could smell the blood and piss and shit and dank mud that coated him and was in his clothes and his hair and his  _ mouth _ — _

 

Breathe, Hatake, _ he thought, but it wasn’t any use. His whole body shook with pain and he could distinctly feel the grinding of the bones in his arm like nails on a chalkboard. He couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen in his lungs and his chest heaved with the effort, but it only made him inhale mud, mud, and more mud to the point that he wished he would just die.  _

 

I fucking hate Kiri. I fucking hate Kiri. IfuckinghateKiriIfuckinghateKiri—

 

_ “Kakashi!” _

 

It’s Guy,  _ he thought wearily, trying in vain to lift his head or move or show that there was someone underneath all the mud. Instead his chest rattled with coughs and he closed his eyes, exhaustion once again creeping over him.  _

 

_ “Kakashi!” _

 

Who…?  _ Someone was trying to dig him out, he could feel it, but that only made the mud press down farther, and he tried to reach up with his good arm to get the mud out of his mouth but he was trapped and he couldn’t see anything and the dank smell of rain was invading his senses and overwhelming his thoughts and he tried to claw at his his throat buthecouldn’tbreathe— _

 

“Kakashi!”

 

Suddenly the mud vanished and his arm was fine and he could feel the comforting chakra cloth over his face. He didn’t smell rain and couldn’t sense any lingering KI, and the grass underneath him was soft. Suspicious, he opened his eyes to find a woman hovering over him with a horrified expression on her face. Not knowing who she was, he head-butted her and scrambled back out of her immediate range. When she reached out towards him, he flinched back and pulled a kunai out of his leg holster. 

 

“Who the fuck are—?” Kakashi cut himself off as he saw a tiny version of Guy laying off to the side of what looked like, now that he was looking, the Academy from before the Third War. He lowered his kunai and took a cautionary step back. “What…?” he whispered.

 

“Kakashi?” the woman repeated again, and suddenly it all came flooding back.

 

His legs folded beneath him and he hit the ground heavily, already fisting his hands, but it was only once his guard was down that he registered the stinging in his neck. Almost idly, he reached up to find rips in his mask and blood trailing down his throat. 

 

“Go get a medic-nin,” Kakashi heard Tsuru say faintly, as if she was a hundred yards away instead of right next to him. His ears were now ringing, and he couldn’t make out any words after that. He focused on trying to slow his breathing and stop the faint trembling of his hands. 

 

When the medic got there, she went straight for the other side of the training grounds, and that caused Kakashi to look up and see the woman bandaging Guy’s leg, who—for his part—was sitting up but not moving. That’s when the sickening realization hit Kakashi:

 

_ I almost killed Guy.  _

 

He’d had that kunai resting on Guy’s femoral artery, and if he hadn’t have missed, Guy would’ve bled out before a medic could’ve gotten there, Tsunade or no. And even if a medic  _ had _ gotten there, he’d perfected that move to slice through the femoral artery  _ and _ the sciatic nerve, which would’ve incapacitated any use of that leg for months, and might’ve caused problems for  _ years _ . In fact, without Tsunade, or even before some of her future advancements in chakra-to-nerve regeneration, Guy might not’ve gotten function back in that leg at all.

 

He almost crippled one of the best taijutsu masters Konoha had ever seen in an Academy  _ training spar. _ Because of a  _ flashback. _

 

_ Fucking shit.  _

 

* * *

 

He was starting to get tired of being summoned to the Hokage because it seemed like only bad shit went down when he was. 

 

This time, however, he’d been waiting outside Sarutobi’s office for hours, and he was getting frustrated with the wait. He did have other things to do—mainly talking with Inochi about Kakashi’s options—but he also had to grocery shop because he never left perishable foods in the house before a mission excluding what Kakashi would need, so there was hardly anything there but coffee, tea, peanut butter, and shitty alcohol. (As weird as it was, Kakashi was right—Kiri had truly horrible beer.)

 

_ Now that I think about it, there might be a jar of pickles. I can’t remember if Bull ate those last time I summoned him or not, _ Sakumo thought idly, trying to distract himself from the Hokage’s office. 

 

He thought back to the night before. It was beautiful outside, and he’d been about to try and get some sleep when he spotted Kakashi sitting on the hill in their backyard. He’d looked so lonely out there, and Sakumo couldn’t just leave him to his own devices—not again. From what he’d gotten out of his son, too many people had assumed he was okay for too long—including himself—and that couldn’t happen again. 

 

Even if Kakashi was technically older than him, Sakumo was his dad, and he wasn’t going to drop the ball a second time. Which is why he didn’t need to be in the Hokage’s office right now, he needed to be helping Jiraiya with the seal or helping Inochi with the deteriorating one. 

 

“Hatake-san?” the secretary asked. “Hokage-sama is ready for you.” She gestured to the wide mahogany doors. 

 

Sakumo spared her a nod and entered, not knowing what to expect. 

 

“Sakumo-sensei?”

 

The only thought that went through his mind was that Sora looked absolutely haggard, and that was being generous. It wasn’t anything particularly obvious since she was a professional, but he’d been her Jounin-sensei, and he’d watched her grow up. 

 

But that didn’t matter because he immediately pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, unable to comprehend anything else beyond,  _ she’s back she’s not dead. _

 

He regretted a lot of things in his life—his thoughts  _ after  _ that last mission notwithstanding—but he didn’t think he’d regret anything more than leading his team into a death trap. He didn’t think he’d be able to hate anyone more than Akio, either. 

 

“Sakumo-sensei,” Sora breathed, returning the hug after a hesitant beat. “Sensei, I—I’m sorry.”

 

He refused to lie to her and say she had nothing to be sorry for, but he figured he’d done just as much bad, so he didn’t answer. He only pulled back and squeezed her hand before letting go and coming to attention in front of the Hokage.  They both knew it wasn’t going to be okay, and he refused to lie.

 

“What did you want, Hokage-sama?” Sakumo asked quietly, already wanting to drag his student off to get something to eat and have a private conversation. 

 

Sarutobi just shook his head and leaned back in his office chair. “I assumed you’d want to know your student was home.” He gave a light shrug. “I don’t need anything else.”

 

Sakumo gave a small bow before gesturing to Sora and heading out for one of his favorite yakitori stalls. The owner was the mother of a brood of ninjas, and she opened her shop in the first place because her three sons and daughter were killed in the Second War and she didn’t have a steady income to raise her orphaned grandson. So, she’d opened  _ Kokura’s _ , and it served the best yakitori this side of Kusa, at least in Sakumo’s opinion. 

 

Plus, the place was tucked into the back corner of a strip mall in the Shopping District that was one of the most tactically advantageous locations in the village for a privately owned shop. It was open enough but not without cover, and had chakra conducting metal flatware. The placemats had flash tags on the back, the chairs were reinforced with steel plating, and kunai lined the bottom of every desk. Senbon came as a stir-stick in every alcoholic beverage, shuriken were stuck in every steak, and patrons were allowed to cut their food with weapons if they felt like it. 

 

_ Kokura’s _ only served ninja, and the owner, Izumi, employed retired ninja and civilians forms ninja families pretty exclusively, mostly for safety purposes. Sakumo went way back with Izumi, and he’d brought his Genin team to  _ Kokura’s _ since they’d been assigned to him. Sora knew Izumi well, and as soon as they entered, Izumi came out from behind the counter and ushered them to a seat.

 

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Izumi said as she handed them both menus.

 

Sora quirked a small smile and shrugged. “It’s been hectic, is all.”

 

Izumi beamed again and hooked a thumb towards the back. “I’ve been looking for more employees because the Shopping District is letting me rent the two empty shops next to this one, so let some people know if you think they’d be interested.” She shook her head. “Anyway, what can I get you to drink?”

 

Sakumo went with some simple black tea, but Sora—for as long as he’d known her—hated hot beverages of any sort, and just ordered water. Izumi took off, and after she was out of earshot, Sakumo leaned forward slightly.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “What happened?”

 

Sora shook her head and sighed heavily. Her shoulders suddenly sagged like a puppet with its strings cut. “I don’t even know. I just…” She trailed off and Sakumo noticed she’d gripped the table, hard. “I couldn’t leave the kid behind.”

 

Her voice wavered ever-so-slightly and Sakumo was at loss. “Why?”

 

“He reminded—”

 

“Here you are,” Izumi said as she set their drinks down and pulled out an order pad. “Do you know what you want?”

 

Flipping idly through the menu, Sakumo spotted a nice butabara yakitori that he hadn’t had in a long time. “I’ll take two sticks of the shio butabara.”

 

“Tare enoki maki, just one stick,” Sora said, handing over her menu.

 

Once that was taken care of, Sakumo turned his attention back to Sora. She seemed to struggle for a moment before giving in.

 

“This kid, Sasori,” she began tentatively. “He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways, and he was struggling. Not to mention he saved my ass from Suna interrogators, non-aggression pact or no. And I didn’t want the kid to get killed because his grandmother was being a bitch.”

 

This attitude wasn’t exactly new to Sakumo, as much as he pretended it to be so in front of the Hokage. Sora had always been pretty sympathetic when it came to other people and she used to bring stray animals to training more times than he could count. She grew out of that eventually, but her personality wasn’t exactly suited to her lifestyle, and even though she was a damn good ninja, there was definitely a time when he wasn’t sure she would be able to take it. No matter how skilled, the biggest asset of any warrior is their mental state. They had to have that perspective, that attitude. 

 

Sora learned it, she wasn’t born with it. So, naturally, it could be forgotten sometimes. 

 

Honestly, Sakumo wasn’t that surprised. He only wished the ‘bitch’ that Sora was referring to wasn’t Lady Chiyō, one of Suna’s most influential and powerful ninjas. She wasn’t exactly one to piss off, though the Kazekage seemed to have taken somewhat of a liking to Sora, for whatever reason. Hopefully that would be enough to keep Sora to the bottom end of Chiyō’s shit-list.

 

Unlikely, since that woman hated his guts absolutely, but one could hope. Then again, Sora wouldn’t know anything about what went down during the Second War. (If Chiyō wanted her son alive, she shouldn’t have pushed for Suna to break their treaty with Konoha, but fuck semantics.) Maybe Chiyō would be professional and leave his student out of it. 

 

_ I’ll remember to keep ‘comedian’ as my career alternative. _

 

He scanned Sora’s face, searching for any other reason she might’ve had to make such a huge lapse in judgement, but came up with nothing other than she cared too much. Unfortunately, in this profession, that would probably be the death of her. He sighed. “Just tell me you won’t do it again.”

 

He saw her lip twitch and it reminded him of her old habit of worrying her lip. She’d mostly gotten it under control, but he could see that she wanted to bite her lip. “I don’t…” She sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Sakumo didn’t believe it, but he let it go. There wasn’t anything to gain by calling her out and he was positive that she didn’t believe herself either. 

 

He was going to change the subject to something lighter, just to catch up, when suddenly the door to  _ Kokura’s _ slammed open and a medic nin came running right up to him. The woman was probably in her thirties with stringy brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, but her flustered demeanor seemed to make more hair slip from the hair-tie. 

 

“Hatake-san,” the woman said, making sure her voice was lowered adequately. “You’re needed at the Academy. Now. It’s Kakashi.”

 

Immediately, Sakumo was up and dropping the appropriate yen on the table before using a  _ shunshin _ to teleport to the Academy. Anything that could be wrong with Kakashi was a really bad thing, and he figured if a medic came to get him, Kakashi was probably injured in some way. 

 

What he found awaiting him wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but it  was almost as bad. 

 

Sakumo rushed to his son first because it seemed like a medic was taking care of another kid across the training field and Kakashi looked about a hair’s breadth from shattering into a million unfixable pieces. He approached slowly, though, to alert Kakashi to his presence in case he wasn’t completely there. That proved to be a good idea because when Kakashi noticed someone standing close to him, he flinched back ever-so-slightly and fisted his hand in his hair.

 

“Kakashi,” Sakumo said, his tone firm but low. He wouldn’t treat his son like a kid, sure that once he did, it would push Kakashi past his breaking point. “Kakashi, what happened?”

 

There was silence for barely a heartbeat when Kakashi began shaking as if his emotions were physically trying to escape but he refused to let them. It made Sakumo’s heart ache that he couldn’t do anything to relieve that burden, to understand what had really gone on in Kakashi’s past. He could listen—and he would—but he hadn’t been there, and it grated him that Kakashi was so close and yet so far away. 

 

No one from Kakashi’s past was left. There wasn’t a single person alive right now that knew what he went through and where he came from. Sakumo just had to struggle through as well as he possibly could and try to fight the raging current that constantly pulled at his son, threatened to sweep Kakashi under the surface. 

 

Because he couldn’t lose Kakashi. Not after Kaiya and his sister and his family. Not after seeing glimpses of the man Kakashi had become. A parent should never have to bury their child, and Sakumo couldn’t bear to see his little boy end up one of the God-forsaken names engraved on that cursed Memorial Stone.

 

Honor the dead it might, but the Memorial Stone was nothing save a reminder of all the people who had to die for someone else’s happiness. 

 

Sakumo kneeled directly in front of Kakashi and slowly reached up to unclench Kakashi’s fists from his hair, pulling his arms down away from his face. Sakumo didn’t get any resistence and took that as permission to lower the bloody mask. The only response was Kakashi’s shaking subsiding a little. 

 

What he found underneath the mask broke his heart. It looked like Kakashi had clawed at his own throat, and glancing at his hands confirmed this. Blood was caked underneath the fingernails and covered his hands. 

 

“Please,” Sakumo whispered, reaching a hand out to tilt Kakashi’s chin up. Meeting his son’s eyes, he inhaled sharply, trying to contain a gasp. They were so empty—so  _ dead _ —and Kakashi’s clouded over gaze was looking  _ through _ him, seeing shadows of a past that only lived in the dark recesses of memory. “I’m right here. I promise, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Slowly,  _ painfully slow _ , Kakashi’s eyes refocused and his breathing normalized and he wasn’t shaking like a leaf. He searched Sakumo’s face warily, as if he thought he’d be yelled at. Sakumo was shocked that he’d even think that.

 

“Dad?” Kakashi breathed. 

 

“I’m here,” Sakumo reiterated gently, reaching for his son’s shoulder. “Come here.” 

 

With that, Kakashi practically fell into his arms and held on for dear life, clutching at his Jounin vest as if it was the only thing holding him together. It reminded Sakumo of that very first morning, before he knew about the time-travel, and Kakashi had broken down and had refused to let him go for a long time before finally pulling himself together again.

 

After a moment, Sakumo pulled back only to find Kakashi passed out cold, his body unable to handle the stress and emotion on top of everything else. The White Fang scooped his son up and headed over to the medic nin on the other side of the field.

 

“Hatake-san,” the medic acknowledged, finishing up the healing on the other Academy student’s leg. “Just give me a moment.” She uncapped a water bottle and took a swig, wiping the slight bit of sweat from her brow.

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Sakumo asked, shifting Kakashi so that he had a better grip. 

 

The woman nodded. “He’s lucky, though. The kunai cut into the top of the thigh instead of the inside, which is apparently where it was aimed for. He probably would’ve bled out before anyone got here to help. However…” She paused and glanced over at Kakashi. “From what I understand about the incident, I’d be more worried about your son.”

 

_ Don’t I know it, _ he thought ruefully.  _ I’m trying to keep him from falling apart at the seams, but I don’t know if I can. _

 

“Does he have any injuries?” the medic asked after finishing off her water bottle. 

 

Sakumo nodded and held his son bridal style so that she could get a good look at the damage. When her hands lit up with healing chakra, she stifled a gasp. “He did this to himself?”

 

He swallowed hard and nodded.

 

She pulled herself together and it only took moments to close all of the cuts and gashes and a towel to wipe off the rest of the blood. Once finished, the medic turned to the Academy instructor and nodded, before citing her waiting report on her desk and taking off. Sakumo told the instructor that he’d be taking his son home and took to the rooftops, Kakashi tucked securely against his chest. 

 

Once he reached the Hatake Compound, he went straight to Kakashi’s room and changed his clothes into pajamas. Laying him down on the bed, Sakumo frowned at the pinched, unsettled expression that plagued his son even in sleep. The uncomfortable and alert tenseness to Kakashi’s shoulders that didn’t seem to ever go away.

 

“I love you,” Sakumo murmured as he pulled the covers over the time-traveler’s tiny body. He leaned down and ran his hands through his son’s straw-like hair, gently pushing Kakashi’s bangs back and ghosting a light kiss on his forehead. 

 

He left the door cracked just slightly in case Kakashi needed him and headed for the kitchen. He felt like some shitty beer to conclude a shitty evening.

 

Until there was a knock on the door, that is. There was Inochi Yamanaka standing on his front porch.

 

_ This can’t be good. _

 

“I have an idea,” Inochi said. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been awhile since I posted and I really am sorry. My finals are a bitch this year and I had a film literature class that I made a short film for. I had to edit 20 minutes of video and it takes a long time.
> 
>  
> 
> School gets out in less than a week, though, so hopefully the next update is a lot sooner.


End file.
